He began the service of Holy Communion by singing the Psalm appointed for the introit. In the book only the first words of the part taken by the priest are given, whereas all the clerk's part is printed in full. He leads the responses in the Lesser Litany, the Gloria in excelsis, the Nicene Creed. He reads the offertory sentences and says the Ter Sanctus, sings or says the Agnus Dei, besides the responses. In the Marriage Service he said or sang the Psalm with the priest, and responded diligently. As in pre-Reformation times he accompanied the priest in the visitation of the sick, and besides making the responses sang the anthems, "Remember not, Lord, our iniquities," etc., and "O Saviour of the world, save us, which by thy crosse and precious blood hast redeemed us, help us, we beseech thee, O God." In the Communion of the Sick the epistle is written out in full, showing that it was the clerk's privilege to read it. A great part of the service for the Burial of the Dead was ordered to be said or sung by the "priest or clerk," and "at the communion when there was a burial" he apparently sang the introit and read the epistle. In the Communion Service the clerk with the priest said the fifty-first Psalm and the anthem, "Turn thou us, O good Lord," etc. In Matins and Evensong the clerk sang the Psalms and canticles and made responses, and from other sources we gather that he used to read either one or both of the lessons. In some churches he was called the dekyn or deacon, and at Ludlow, in 1551, he received 3 s. 4 d. for reading the first lesson.

In the accounts of St. Margaret's, Westminster, there is an item in the year 1553 for the repair of the pulpit where, it is stated, "the curate and the clark did read the chapters at service time."

Archbishop Grindal, in 1571, laid down the following injunction for his province of York: "That no parish clerk be appointed against the goodwill or without the consent of the parson, vicar, or curate of any parish, and that he be obedient to the parson, vicar, and curate, specially in the time of celebration of divine service or of sacraments, or in any preparation thereunto; and that he be able also to read the first lesson, the Epistle, and the Psalms, with answers to the suffrages as is used, and also that he endeavour himself to teach young children to read, if he be able so to do." When this archbishop was translated to Canterbury he issued very similar injunctions in the southern province. Other bishops followed his example, and issued questions in their dioceses relating to clerkly duties, and these injunctions show that to read the first lesson and the epistle and to sing the Psalms constituted the principal functions of a parish clerk.

Evidences of the continuance of this practice are not wanting[38]. Indeed, within the memory of living men at one church at least the custom was observed. At Keighley, in the West Riding of Yorkshire, some thirty or forty years ago the parish clerk wore a black gown and bands. He read the first lesson and the epistle. To read the latter he left his seat below the pulpit and went up to the altar and took down the book: after reading the epistle within the altar rails he replaced the book and returned to his place. At Wimborne Minster the clerk used to read the Lessons.

[Footnote 38: cf. The Parish Clerk's Book, edited by Dr. J. Wickham Legg, F.S.A., and The Parish Clerk and his right to read the Liturgical Epistle, by Cuthbert Atchley, L.R.C.P., M.R.C.S. (Alcuin Club Tracts, IV).]

Although it is evident that at the present time the clerk has a right to read the epistle and one of the lessons, as well as the Psalms and responses when they are not sung, it was perhaps necessary that his efforts in this direction should have been curtailed. When we remember the extraordinary blunders made by many holders of the office in the last century, their lack of education, and strange pronunciation, we should hardly care to hear the mutilation of Holy Scripture which must have followed the continuance of the practice. Would it not be possible to find men qualified to hold the office of parish clerk by education and powers of elocution who could revive the ancient practice with advantage to the church both to the clergyman and the people?

Complaints about the eccentricities and defective reading and singing of clerks have come down to us from Jacobean times. There was one Thomas Milborne, clerk of Eastham, who was guilty of several enormities; amongst others, "for that he singeth the psalms in the church with such a jesticulous tone and altisonant voice, viz: squeaking like a gelded pig, which doth not only interrupt the other voices, but is altogether dissonant and disagreeing unto any musical harmony, and he hath been requested by the minister to leave it, but he doth obstinately persist and continue therein." Verily Master Milborne must have been a sore trial to his vicar, almost as great as the clerk of Buxted, Sussex, was to his rector, who records in the parish register with a sigh of relief his death, "whose melody warbled forth as if he had been thumped on the back with a stone."

The Puritan regime was not conducive to this improvement of the status or education of the clerk or the cultivation of his musical abilities. The Protectorate was a period of musical darkness. The organs of the cathedrals and colleges were taken down; the choirs were dispersed, musical publications ceased, and the gradual twilight of the art, which commenced with the accession of the Stuarts, faded into darkness. Many clerks, especially in the City of London, deserve the highest honour for having endeavoured to preserve the true taste for musical services in a dark age. Notable amongst these was John Playford, clerk of the Temple Church in 1652. Benjamin Payne, clerk of St. Anne's, Blackfriars, in 1685, the author of The Parish Clerk's Guide, wrote of Playford as "one to whose memory all parish clerks owe perpetual thanks for their furtherance in the knowledge of psalmody." The History of Music, by Hawkins, describes him as "an honest and friendly man, a good judge of music, with some skill in composition. He contributed not a little to the art of printing music from letterpress types. He is looked upon as the father of modern psalmody, and it does not appear that the practice has much improved." The account which Playford gives of the clerks of his day is not very satisfactory, and their sorry condition is attributed to "the late wars" and the confusion of the times. He says:

"In and about this great city, in above a hundred parishes there are but few parish clerks to be found that have either ear or understanding to set one of these tunes musically, as it ought to be, it having been a custom during the late wars, and since, to chuse men into such places more for their poverty than skill and ability, whereby that part of God's service hath been so ridiculously performed in most places, that it is now brought into scorn and derision by many people." He goes on to tell us that "the ancient practice of singing the psalms in church was for the clerk to repeat each line, probably because, at the first introduction of psalms into our service great numbers of the common people were unable to read." The author of The Parish Clerk's Guide states that "since faction prevailed in the Church, and troubles in the State, Church music has laboured under inevitable prejudices, more especially by its being decried by some misguided and peevish sectaries as popery and anti-Christ, and so the minds of the common people are alienated from Church music, although performed by men of the greatest skill and judgment, under whom was wont to be trained up abundance of youth in the respective cathedrals, that did stock the whole kingdom at one time with good and able songsters." The Company of Parish Clerks of London [to the history and records of which we shall have occasion frequently to refer] did good service in promoting the musical training of the members and in upholding the dignity of their important office. In the edition of The Parish Clerk's Guide for 1731, the writer laments over the diminished status of his order, and states that "the clerk is oftentimes chosen rather for his poverty, to prevent a charge to the parish, than either for his virtue or skill; or else for some by-end or purpose, more than for the immediate Honour and Service of Almighty God and His Church."

If that was the case in rich and populous London parishes, how much more was it true in poor village churches? Hence arose the race of country clerks who stumbled over and miscalled the hard words as they occurred in the Psalms, who sang in a strange and weird fashion, and brought discredit on their office. Indeed, the clergy were not always above suspicion in the matter of reading, and even now they have their detractors, who assert that it is often impossible to hear what they say, that they read in a strained unnatural voice, and are generally unintelligible. At any rate, modern clergy are not so deficient in education as they were in the early years of Queen Elizabeth, when, as Fuller states in his Triple Reconciler, they were commanded "to read the chapters over once or twice by themselves that so they might be the better enabled to read them distinctly to the congregation." If the clergy were not infallible in the matter of the pronunciation of difficult words, it is not surprising that the clerk often puzzled or amused his hearers, and mangled or skipped the proper names, after the fashion of the mistress of a dame-school, who was wont to say when a small pupil paused at such a name as Nebuchadnezzar, "That's a bad word, child! go on to the next verse."

Of the mistakes in the clerk's reading of the Psalms there are many instances. David Diggs, the hero of J. Hewett's Parish Clerk, was remonstrated with for reading the proper names in Psalm lxxxiii. 6, "Odommities, Osmallities, and Mobbities," and replied: "Yes, no doubt, but that's noigh enow. Seatown folk understand oi very well."

He is also reported to have said, "Jeball, Amon, and Almanac, three Philistines with them that are tired." The vicar endeavoured to teach him the correct mode of pronunciation of difficult words, and for some weeks he read well, and then returned to his former method of making a shot at the proper names.

On being expostulated with he coolly replied:

"One on us must read better than t'other, or there wouldn't be no difference 'twixt parson and clerk; so I gives in to you. Besides, this sort of reading as you taught me would not do here. The p'rishioners told oi, if oi didn't gi' in and read in th' old style loike, as they wouldn't come to hear oi, so oi dropped it!"

An old clerk at Hartlepool, who had been a sailor, used to render Psalm civ. 26, as "There go the ships and there is that lieutenant whom Thou hast made to take his pastime therein."

"Leviathan" has been responsible for many errors. A shoemaker clerk used to call it "that great leather-thing." From various sources comes to me the story, to which I have already referred, of the transformation of "an alien to my mother's children" into "a lion to my mother's children."

A clerk at Bletchley always called caterpillars saterpillars, and in Psalm lxviii. never read JAH, but spelt it J-A-H. He used to summon the children from their places to stand in single file along the pews during three Sundays in Lent, and say, "Children, say your catechayse."

Catechising during the service seems to have been not uncommon. The clerk at Milverton used to summon the children, calling out, "Children, catechise, pray draw near."

The clerk at Sidbury used to read, "Better than a bullock that has horns enough"; his name was Timothy Karslake, commonly called "Tim," and when he made a mistake in the responses some one in the church would call out, "You be wrong, Tim."

Sometimes a little emphasis on the wrong word was used to express the feelings engendered by private piques and quarrels. There were in one parish some differences between the parson and the clerk, who showed his independence and proud spirit when he read the verse of the Psalm, "If I be hungry, I will not tell thee," casting a rather scornful glance at the parson.

Another specimen of his class used to read "Ananias, Azarias, and Mizzle," and one who was reading a lesson in church (Isaiah liv. 12), "And I will make thy windows of agates, and thy gates of carbuncles," rendered the verse, "Thy window of a gate, and thy gates of crab ancles."

Another clerk who was "not much of a scholard" used to allow no difficulty to check his fluency. If the right word did not fall to his hand he made shift with another of somewhat similar sound, the result frequently taxing to the uttermost the self-control of the better educated among his hearers. He was ill-mated to a shrewish wife, and one was sensible of a thrill of sympathy when, without a thought of irreverence, and in all simplicity, he rolled out, instead of "Woe is me, that I am constrained to dwell with Mesech!" "Woe is me, that I am constrained to dwell with Missis!"

Old age at length puts an end to the power of the most stalwart clerks. That must have been a very pathetic scene in the church at East Barnet which few of those present could have witnessed without emotion. The clerk was a man of advanced age. He always conducted the singing, which must have been somewhat monotonous, as the 95th and the 100th Psalm (Old Version) were invariably sung. On one occasion, after several vain attempts to begin the accustomed melody, the poor old man exclaimed, "Well, my friends, it's no use. I'm too old. I can't sing any more."



It was a bitter day for the old clerks when harmoniums and organs came into fashion, and the old orchestras conducted by them were abandoned. Dethroned monarchs could not feel more distressed.

The period of the decline and fall of the status of the old parish clerks was that of the Commonwealth, from 1640 to 1660. During the spacious days of Elizabeth and the early Stuarts they were considered most important officials. In pre-Reformation times the incumbents used to receive assistance from the chantry priests who were required to help the parson when not engaged in their particular duties. After the suppression of the chantries they continued their good offices and acted as assistant curates. But the race soon died out. Then lecturers and special preachers were frequently appointed by corporations or rich private individuals. But these lecturers and preachers were a somewhat independent race who were not very loyal to the parsons and impatient of episcopal control, and proved themselves rather a hindrance than a help. In North Devon[39] and doubtless in many other places the experiment was tried of making use of the parish clerks and raising them to the diaconate. Such a clerk so raised to major orders was Robert Langdon (1584-1625), of Barnstaple, to whose history I shall have occasion to refer again. His successor, Anthony Baker, was also a clerk-deacon. The parish clerk then attained the zenith of his power, dignity, and importance.

[Footnote 39: The Parish Clerks of Barnstaple, 1500-1900, by Rev. J.F. Chanter (Transactions of the Devonshire Association).]

After the disastrous period of the Commonwealth rule he emerges shorn of his learning, his rank, and status. His name remained; his office was recognised by legal enactments and ecclesiastical usage; but in most parishes he was chosen on account of his poverty rather than for his fitness for the post. So long as the church rates remained he received his salary, but when these were abolished it was found difficult in many parishes to provide the funds. Hence as the old race died out, the office was allowed to lapse, and the old clerk's place knows him no more. Possibly it may be the delectable task of some future historian to record the complete revival of the office, which would prove under proper conditions an immense advantage to the Church and a valuable assistance to the parochial clergy.



CHAPTER V

THE CLERK IN LITERATURE

The parish clerk is so notable a character in our ecclesiastical and social life, that he has not escaped the attention of many of our great writers and poets. Some of them have with gentle satire touched upon his idiosyncrasies and peculiarities; others have recorded his many virtues, his zeal and faithfulness. Shakespeare alludes to him in his play of Richard II, in the fourth act, when he makes the monarch face his rebellious nobles, reproaching them for their faithlessness, and saying:

"God save the King! will no man say Amen? Am I both priest and clerk? Well then, Amen. God save the King! although I be not he; And yet, Amen, if Heaven do think him me."

An old ballad, King Cophetua and the Beggar-Maid, contains an interesting allusion to the parish clerk, and shows the truth of that which has already been pointed out, viz. that the office of clerk was often considered to be a step to higher preferment in the Church. The lines of the old ballad run as follows:

"The proverb old is come to passe, The priest when he begins his masse Forgets that ever clarke he was; He knoweth not his estate."

Christopher Harvey, the friend and imitator of George Herbert, has some homely lines on the duties of clerk and sexton in his poem The Synagogue. Of the clerk he wrote:

"The Churches Bible-clerk attends Her utensils, and ends Her prayers with Amen, Tunes Psalms, and to her Sacraments Brings in the Elements, And takes them out again; Is humble minded and industrious handed, Doth nothing of himself, but as commanded."

Of the sexton he wrote:

"The Churches key-keeper opens the door, And shuts it, sweeps the floor, Rings bells, digs graves, and fills them up again; All emblems unto men, Openly owning Christianity To mark and learn many good lessons by."

In that delightful sketch of old-time manners and quaint humour, Sir Roger de Coverley, the editor of The Spectator gave a life-like representation of the old-fashioned service. Nor is the clerk forgotten. They tell us that "Sir Roger has likewise added five pounds a year to the clerk's place; and that he may encourage the young fellows to make themselves perfect in the Church services, has promised, upon the death of the present incumbent, who is very old, to bestow it according to merit." The details of the exquisite picture of a rural Sunday were probably taken from the church of Milston on the Wiltshire downs where Addison's father was incumbent, and where the author was born in 1672. Doubtless the recollections of his early home enabled Joseph Addison to draw such an accurate picture of the ecclesiastical customs of his youth. The deference shown by the members of the congregation who did not presume to stir till Sir Roger had left the building was practised in much more recent times, and instances will be given of the observance of this custom within living memory.

Two other references to parish clerks I find in The Spectator which are worthy of quotation:

"Spectator, No. 372.

"In three or four taverns I have, at different times, taken notice of a precise set of people with grave countenances, short wigs, black cloaths, or dark camblet trimmed black, with mourning gloves and hat-bands, who went on certain days at each tavern successively, and keep a sort of moving club. Having often met with their faces, and observed a certain shrinking way in their dropping in one after another, I had the unique curiosity to inquire into their characters, being the rather moved to it by their agreeing in the singularity of their dress; and I find upon due examination they are a knot of parish clerks, who have taken a fancy to one another, and perhaps settle the bills of mortality over their half pints. I have so great a value and veneration for any who have but even an assenting Amen in the service of religion, that I am afraid but these persons should incur some scandal by this practice; and would therefore have them, without raillery, advise to send the florence and pullets home to their own homes, and not to pretend to live as well as the overseers of the poor.

"HUMPHRY TRANSFER.

"Spectator, No. 338.

"A great many of our church-musicians being related to the theatre, have in imitation of their epilogues introduced in their favourite voluntaries a sort of music quite foreign to the design of church services, to the great prejudice of well-disposed people. These fingering gentlemen should be informed that they ought to suit their airs to the place and business; and that the musician is obliged to keep to the text as much as the preacher. For want of this, I have found by experience a great deal of mischief; for when the preacher has often, with great piety and art enough, handled his subject, and the judicious clerk has with utmost diligence called out two staves proper to the discourse, and I have found in myself and in the rest of the pew good thoughts and dispositions, they have been all in a moment dissipated by a merry jig from the organ loft."

Dr. Johnson's definition of a parish clerk in his Dictionary does not convey the whole truth about him and his historic office. He is defined as "the layman who reads the responses to the congregation in church, to direct the rest." The great lexicographer had, however, a high estimation of this official. Boswell tells us that on one occasion "the Rev. Mr. Palmer, Fellow of Queens' College, Cambridge, dined with us. He expressed a wish that a better provision were made for parish clerks. Johnson: 'Yes, sir, a parish clerk should be a man who is able to make a will or write a letter for anybody in the parish.'" I am afraid that a vast number of our good clerks would have been sore puzzled to perform the first task, and the caligraphy of the letter would in many cases have been curious.

That careful delineator of rural manners as they existed at the end of the eighteenth century, George Crabbe, devotes a whole poem to the parish clerk in his nineteenth letter of The Borough. He tells of the fortunes of Jachin, the clerk, a grave and austere man, fully orthodox, a Pharisee of the Pharisees, and detecter and opposer of the wiles of Satan. Here is his picture:

"With our late vicar, and his age the same, His clerk, bright Jachin, to his office came; The like slow speech was his, the like tall slender frame: But Jachin was the gravest man on ground, And heard his master's jokes with look profound; For worldly wealth this man of letters sigh'd, And had a sprinkling of the spirit's pride: But he was sober, chaste, devout, and just, One whom his neighbours could believe and trust: Of none suspected, neither man nor maid By him were wronged, or were of him afraid. There was indeed a frown, a trick of state In Jachin: formal was his air and gait: But if he seemed more solemn and less kind Than some light man to light affairs confined, Still 'twas allow'd that he should so behave As in high seat, and be severely grave."

The arch-tempter tries in vain to seduce him from the right path. "The house where swings the tempting sign," the smiles of damsels, have no power over him. He "shuns a flowing bowl and rosy lip," but he is not invulnerable after all. Want and avarice take possession of his soul. He begins to take by stealth the money collected in church, putting bran in his pockets so that the coin shall not jingle. He offends with terror, repeats his offence, grows familiar with crime, and is at last detected by a "stern stout churl, an angry overseer." Disgrace, ruin, death soon follow; shunned and despised by all, he "turns to the wall and silently expired." A woeful story truly, the results of spiritual pride and greed of gain! It is to be hoped that few clerks resembled poor lost Jachin.

A companion picture to the disgraced clerk is that of "the noble peasant Isaac Ashford[40]," who won from Crabbe's pen a gracious panegyric. He says of him:

"Noble he was, contemning all things mean, His truth unquestioned, and his soul serene.

* * * * *

If pride were his, 'twas not their vulgar pride, Who, in their base contempt, the great deride: Nor pride in learning—though by Clerk agreed, If fate should call him, Ashford might succeed."

[Footnote 40: The Parish Register, Part III.]

He paints yet another portrait, that of old Dibble[41], clerk and sexton:

"His eightieth year he reach'd still undecayed, And rectors five to one close vault conveyed.

* * * * *

His masters lost, he'd oft in turn deplore, And kindly add,—'Heaven grant I lose no more!' Yet while he spake, a sly and pleasant glance Appear'd at variance with his complaisance: For as he told their fate and varying worth, He archly looked—'I yet may bear thee forth.'"

[Footnote 41: The Parish Register, Part III.]

George Herbert, the saintly Christian poet, who sang on earth such hymns and anthems as the angels sing in heaven, was no friend of the old-fashioned duet between the minister and clerk in the conduct of divine service. He would have no "talking, or sleeping, or gazing, or leaning, or half-kneeling, or any undutiful behaviour in them." Moreover, "everyone, man and child, should answer aloud both Amen and all other answers which are on the clerk's and people's part to answer, which answers also are to be done not in a huddling or slubbering fashion, gaping, or scratching the head, or spitting even in the midst of their answer, but gently and pausably, thinking what they say, so that while they answer 'As it was in the beginning, etc.,' they meditate as they speak, that God hath ever had his people that have glorified Him as well as now, and that He shall have so for ever. And the like in other answers."

Cowper's kindliness of heart is abundantly evinced by his treatment of a parish clerk, one John Cox, the official of the parish of All Saints, Northampton. The poet was living in the little Buckinghamshire village of Weston Underwood, having left Olney when mouldering walls and a tottering house warned him to depart. He was recovering from his dread malady, and beginning to feel the pleasures and inconveniences of authorship and fame. The most amusing proof of his celebrity and his good nature is thus related to Lady Hesketh:

"On Monday morning last, Sam brought me word that there was a man in the kitchen who desired to speak with me. I ordered him in. A plain, decent, elderly figure made its appearance, and being desired to sit spoke as follows: 'Sir, I am clerk of the parish of All Saints in Northampton, brother of Mr. Cox the upholsterer. It is customary for the person in my office to annex to a bill of mortality, which he publishes at Christmas, a copy of verses. You will do me a great favour, sir, if you will furnish me with one.' To this I replied: 'Mr. Cox, you have several men of genius in your town, why have you not applied to some of them? There is a namesake of yours in particular, Cox, the Statuary, who, everybody knows, is a first-rate maker of verses. He surely is the man of all the world for your purpose.' 'Alas, sir, I have heretofore borrowed help from him, but he is a gentleman of so much reading that the people of our town cannot understand him.'

"I confess to you, my dear, I felt all the force of the compliment implied in this speech, and was almost ready to answer, Perhaps, my good friend, they may find me unintelligible too for the same reason. But on asking him whether he had walked over to Weston on purpose to implore the assistance of my muse, and on his replying in the affirmative, I felt my mortified vanity a little consoled, and pitying the poor man's distress, which appeared to be considerable, promised to supply him. The waggon has accordingly gone this day to Northampton loaded in part with my effusions in the mortuary style. A fig for poets who write epitaphs upon individuals! I have written one that serves two hundred persons."

Seven successive years did Cowper, in his excellent good nature, supply John Cox, the clerk of All Saints in Northampton, with his mortuary verses[42], and when Cox died, he bestowed a like kindness on his successor, Samuel Wright.

[Footnote 42: Southey's Works of Cowper, ii. p. 283.]

These stanzas are published in the complete editions of Cowper's poems, and need not be quoted here. They begin with a quotation from some Latin author—Horace, or Virgil, or Cicero—these quotations being obligingly translated for the benefit of the worthy townsfolk. The first of these stanzas begins with the well-known lines:

"While thirteen moons saw smoothly run The Nen's barge-laden wave, All these, life's rambling journey done, Have found their home, the grave."

Another verse which has attained fame runs thus:

"Like crowded forest trees we stand, And some are mark'd to fall; The axe will smite at God's command, And soon will smite us all."

And thus does Cowper, in his temporary role, point the moral:

"And O! that humble as my lot, And scorned as is my strain, These truths, though known, too much forgot, I may not teach in vain.

"So prays your clerk with all his heart, And, ere he quits his pen, Begs you for once to take his part, And answer all—Amen."

Again, in another copy of verses he alludes to his honourable clerkship, and sings:

"So your verse-man I, and clerk, Yearly in my song proclaim Death at hand—yourselves his mark— And the foe's unerring aim.

"Duly at my time I come, Publishing to all aloud Soon the grave must be our home, And your only suit a shroud."

On one occasion the clerk delayed to send a printed copy of the verses; so we find the poet writing to his friend, William Bagot:

"You would long since have received an answer to your last, had not the wicked clerk of Northampton delayed to send me the printed copy of my annual dirge, which I waited to enclose. Here it is at last, and much good may it do the readers!"

Let us hope that at least the clerk was grateful.

Yet again does the poet allude to the occupant of the lowest tier of the great "three-decker," when he in the opening lines of The Sofa depicts the various seekers after sleep. After telling of the snoring nurse, the sleeping traveller in the coach, he continues:

"Sweet sleep enjoys the curate in his desk, The tedious rector drawling o'er his head; And sweet the clerk below—"

a pretty picture truly of a stirring and impressive service!

Cowper, if he were alive now, would have been no admirer of Who's Who, and poured scorn upon any

"Fond attempt to give a deathless lot To names ignoble, born to be forgot."

Beholding some "names of little note" in the Biographia Britannica, he proceeded to satirise the publication, to laugh at the imaginary procession of worthies—the squire, his lady, the vicar, and other local celebrities, and chants in his anger:

"There goes the parson, oh! illustrious spark! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk."

The poet Gay is not unmindful of the

"Parish clerk who calls the hymns so clear";

and Tennyson, in his sonnet to J.M.K., wrote:

"Our dusty velvets have much need of thee: Thou art no sabbath-drawler of old saws, Distill'd from some worm-canker'd homily; But spurr'd at heart with fiercest energy To embattail and to wall about thy cause With iron-worded proof, hating to hark The humming of the drowsy pulpit-drone Half God's good Sabbath, while the worn-out clerk Brow-beats his desk below."

In the gallery of Dickens's characters stands out the immortal Solomon Daisy of Barnaby Rudge, with his "cricket-like chirrup" as he took his part in the social gossip round the Maypole fire. Readers of Dickens will remember the timid Solomon's visit to the church at midnight when he went to toll the passing bell, and his account of the strange things that befell him there, and of the ringing of the mysterious bell that told the murder of Reuben Haredale.

In the British Museum I discovered a fragmentary collection of ballads and songs, made by Mr. Ballard, and amongst these is a song relating to a very unworthy follower of St. Nicholas, whose memory is thus unhappily preserved:

THE PARISH CLERK

A NEW COMIC SONG

Tune—THE VICAR AND MOSES

Here rests from his labours, by consent of his neighbours, A peevish, ill-natur'd old clerk; Who never design'd any good to mankind, For of goodness he ne'er had a spark. Tol lol de rol lol de rol lol.

But greedy as Death, until his last breath, His method he ne'er failed to use; When interr'd a corpse lay, Amen he'd scarce say, Before he cry'd Who pays the dues?

Not a tear now he's dead, by friend or foe shed; The first they were few, if he'd any; Of the last he had more, than tongue can count o'er, Who'd have hang'd the old churl for a penny.

In Levi's black train, the clerk did remain Twenty years, squalling o'er a dull stave; Yet his mind was so evil, he'd swear like the devil, Nor repented on this side the grave.

Fowler, Printer, Salisbury.

That extraordinary man Mr. William Hutton, who died in 1813, and whose life has been written and his works edited by Mr. Llewellyn Jewitt, F.S.A., amongst his other poems wrote a set of verses on The Way to Find Sunday without an Almanack. It tells the story of a Welsh clergyman who kept poultry, and how he told the days of the week and marked the Sundays by the regularity with which one of his hens laid her eggs. The seventh egg always became his Sunday letter, and thus he always remembered to sally forth "with gown and cassock, book and band," and perform his accustomed duty. Unfortunately the clerk was treacherous, and one week stole an egg, with dire consequences to the congregation, which had to wait until the clergyman, who was engaged in the unclerical task of "soleing shoes," could be fetched. The poem is a poor trifle, but it is perhaps worth mentioning on account of the personality of the writer.

There is a charming sketch of an old clerk in the Essays and Tales of the late Lady Verney. The story tells of the old clerk's affection for his great-grandchild, Benny. He is a delightfully drawn specimen of his race. We see him "creeping slowly about the shadows of the aisle, in his long blue Sunday coat with huge brass buttons, the tails of which reached almost to his heels, shorts and brown leggings, and a low-crowned hat in his hand. He was nearly eighty, but wiry still, rather blind and somewhat deaf; but the post of clerk is one considered to be quite independent and irremovable, quam diu se bene gesserit, during good behaviour—on a level with Her Majesty's judges for that matter. Having been raised to this great eminence some sixty years before, when he was the only man in the parish who could read, he would have stood out for his rights to remain there as long as he pleased against all the powers and principalities in the kingdom—if, indeed, he could have conceived the possibility of any one, in or out of the parish, being sufficiently irreligious and revolutionary to dispute his sovereignty. He was part of the church, and the church was part of him—his rights and hers were indissolubly connected in his mind.

* * * * *

"The Psalms that day offered a fine field for his Anglo-Saxon plurals and south-country terminations; the 'housen,' 'priestesses,' 'beasteses of the field,' came rolling freely forth from his mouth, upon which no remonstrances by the curate had had the smallest effect. Was he, Michael Major, who had fulfilled the important office 'afore that young jackanapes was born, to be teached how 'twere to be done?' he had observed more than once in rather a high tone, though in general he patronised the successive occupants of the pulpit with much kindness. 'And this 'un, as cannot spike English nayther,' he added superciliously concerning the north-country accent of his pastor and master."

On weekdays he wore a smock-frock, which he called his surplice, with wonderful fancy stitches on the breast and back and sleeves. At length he had to resign his post and take to his bed, and was not afraid to die when his time came. It is a very tender and touching little story, a very faithful picture of an old clerk[43].

[Footnote 43: Essays and Tales, by Frances Parthenope Lady Verney, p. 67.]

Passing from grave to gay, we find Tom Hood sketching the clerk attending on his vicar, who is about to perform a wedding service and make two people for ever happy. He christens the two officials "the joiners, no rough mechanics, but a portly full-blown vicar with his clerk, both rubicund, a peony paged by a pink. It made me smile to observe the droll clerical turn of the clerk's beaver, scrubbed into that fashion by his coat at the nape."

Few people know Alexander Pope's Memoir of P.P., Clerk of this Parish, which was intended to ridicule Burnet's History of His Own Time, a work characterised by a strong tincture of self-importance and egotism. These are abundantly exposed in the Memoir, which begins thus:

"In the name of the Lord, Amen. I, P.P., by the Grace of God, Clerk of this Parish, writeth this history.

"Ever since I arrived at the age of discretion I had a call to take upon me the Function of a Parish Clerk, and to this end it seemed unto me meet and profitable to associate myself with the parish clerks of this land, such I mean as were right worthy in their calling, men of a clear and sweet voice, and of becoming gravity."

He tells how on the day of his birth Squire Bret gave a bell to the ring of the parish. Hence that one and the same day did give to their own church two rare gifts, its great bell and its clerk.

Leaving the account of P.P.'s youthful amours and bouts at quarter-staff, we next find that:

"No sooner was I elected into my office, but I layed aside the gallantries of my youth and became a new man. I considered myself as in somewise of ecclesiastical dignity, since by wearing of a band, which is no small part of the ornaments of our clergy, might not unworthily be deemed, as it were, a shred of the linen vestments of Aaron.

"Thou mayest conceive, O reader, with what concern I perceived the eyes of the congregation fixed upon me, when I first took my place at the feet of the Priest. When I raised the Psalm, how did my voice quiver with fear! And when I arrayed the shoulders of the minister with the surplice, how did my joints tremble under me! I said within myself, 'Remember, Paul, thou standest before men of high worship, the wise Mr. Justice Freeman, the grave Mr. Justice Tonson, the good Lady Jones.' Notwithstanding it was my good hap to acquit myself to the good liking of the whole congregation, but the Lord forbid I should glory therein."

He then proceeded to remove "the manifold corruptions and abuses."

1. "I was especially severe in whipping forth dogs from the Temple, all except the lap-dog of the good widow Howard, a sober dog which yelped not, nor was there offence in his mouth.

2. "I did even proceed to moroseness, though sore against my heart, unto poor babes, in tearing from them the half-eaten apple, which they privily munched at church. But verily it pitied me, for I remembered the days of my youth.

3. "With the sweat of my own hands I did make plain and smooth the dog's ears throughout our Great Bible.

4. "I swept the pews, not before swept in the third year. I darned the surplice and laid it in lavender."

The good clerk also made shoes, shaved and clipped hair, and practised chirurgery also in the worming of dogs.

"Now was the long expected time arrived when the Psalms of King David should be hymned unto the same tunes to which he played them upon his harp, so I was informed by my singing-master, a man right cunning in Psalmody. Now was our over-abundant quaver and trilling done away, and in lieu thereof was instituted the sol-fa in such guise as is sung in his Majesty's Chapel. We had London singing-masters sent into every parish like unto excisemen."

P.P. was accused by his enemies of humming through his nostrils as a sackbut, yet he would not forgo the harmony, it having been agreed by the worthy clerks of London still to preserve the same. He tutored the young men and maidens to tune their voices as it were a psaltery, and the church on Sunday was filled with new Hallelujahs.

But the fame of the great is fleeting. Poor Paul Philips passed away, and was forgotten. When his biographer went to see him, his place knew him no more. No one could tell of his virtues, his career, his excellences. Nothing remained but his epitaph:

"O reader, if that thou canst read, Look down upon this stone; Do all we can, Death is a man That never spareth none."



CHAPTER VI

CLERKS TOO CLERICAL. SMUGGLING DAYS AND SMUGGLING WAYS

It is perhaps not altogether surprising that in times when ordained clergymen were scarce, and when much confusion reigned, the clerk should occasionally have taken upon himself to discharge duties which scarcely pertained to his office. Great diversity of opinion is evident as regards the right of the clerk to perform certain ecclesiastical services, such as his reading of the Burial Service, the Churching of Women, and the reading of the daily services in the absence of the incumbent. In the days of Queen Elizabeth, judging from the numerous inquiries issued by the bishops at their visitations, one would imagine that the parish clerk performed many services which pertained to the duties of the parish priest. It is not likely that such inquiries should have been made if some reports of clerks and readers exceeding their prescribed functions had not reached episcopal ears. They ask if readers presume to baptize or marry or celebrate Holy Communion. And the answers received in several cases support the surmise of the bishops. Thus we read that at Westbere, "When the parson is absent the parish clerk reads the service." At Waltham the parish clerk served the parish for the most as the vicar seldom came there. At Tenterden the service was read by a layman, one John Hopton, and at Fairfield a reader served the church. This was the condition of those parishes in 1569, and doubtless many others were similarly situated.

The Injunctions of Archbishop Grindal, issued in 1571, are severe and outspoken with regard to lay ministration. He wrote as follows:

"We do enjoin and straitly command, that from henceforth no parish clerk, nor any other person not being ordered, at the least, for a deacon, shall presume to solemnize Matrimony, or to minister the Sacrament of Baptism, or to deliver the communicants the Lord's cup at the celebration of the Holy Communion. And that no person, not being a minister, deacon, or at least, tolerated by the ordinary in writing, do attempt to supply the office of a minister in saying divine service openly in any church or chapel."

In the Lincoln diocese in 1588 the clerk was still allowed to read one lesson and the epistle, but he was forbidden from saying the service, ministering any sacraments or reading any homily. In some cases greater freedom was allowed. In the beautiful Lady Chapel of the Church of St. Mary Overy there is preserved a curious record relating to this:

"Touching the Parish Clerk and Sexton all is well; only our clerk doth sometimes to ease the minister read prayers, church women, christen, bury and marry, being allowed so to do.

"December 9. 1634."

Bishop Joseph Hall of Exeter asked in 1638 in his visitation articles, "Whether in the absence of the minister or at any other time the Parish Clerk, or any other lay person, said Common Prayer openly in the church or any part of the Divine Service which is proper to the Priest?"

Archdeacon Marsh, of Chichester, in 1640 inquires: "Hath your Parish Clerk or Sexton taken upon him to meddle with anything above his office, as churching of women, burying of the dead, or such like?"

During the troublous times of the Commonwealth period it is not surprising that the clerk often performed functions which were "above his office," when clergymen were banished from their livings. We have noticed already an example of the burial service being performed by the clerk when he was so rudely treated by angry Parliamentarians for using the Book of Common Prayer. Here is an instance of the ceremony of marriage being performed by the parish clerk:

"The marriages in the Parish of Dale Abbey were till a few years previous to the Marriage Act, solemnized by the Clerk of the Parish, at one shilling each, there being no minister."

This Marriage Act was that passed by the Little Parliament of 1653, by which marriage was pronounced to be merely a civil contract. Banns were published in the market-place, and the marriages were performed by Cromwell's Justices of the Peace whom, according to a Yorkshire vicar, "that impious and rebell appointed out of the basest Hypocrites and dissemblers with God and man." The clerks' marriage ceremony was no worse than that of the justices.

Dr. Macray, of the Bodleian Library, has discovered the draft of a licence granted by Dr. John Mountain, Bishop of London, to Thomas Dickenson, parish clerk of Waltham Holy Cross, in the year 1621, permitting him to read prayers, church women, and bury the dead. This licence states that the parish of Waltham Holy Cross was very spacious, many houses being a long distance from the church, and that the curate was very much occupied with his various duties of visiting the sick, burying the dead, churching women, and other business belonging to his office; hence permission is granted to Thomas Dickenson to assist the curate in reading prayers in church, burying dead corpses, and to church women in the absence of the curate, or when the curate cannot conveniently perform the same duty in his own person.

Doubtless this licence was no solitary exception, and it is fairly certain that other clerks enjoyed the same privileges which are here assigned to Master Thomas Dickenson. He must have been a worthy member of his class, a man of education, and of skill and ability in reading, or episcopal sanction would not have been given to him to perform these important duties.

It is evident that parish clerks occasionally at least performed several important clerical functions with the consent of, or in the absence of the incumbents, and that in spite of the articles in the visitations of some bishops who were opposed to this practice, episcopal sanction was not altogether wanting.

The affection with which the parishioners regarded the clerk is evidenced in many ways. He received from them many gifts in kind and money, such as eggs and cakes and sheaves of corn. Some of them were demanded in early times as a right that could not be evaded; but the compulsory payment of such goods was abolished, and the parishioners willingly gave by courtesy that which had been deemed a right.

Sometimes land has been left to the clerk in order that he may ring the curfew-bell, or a bell at night and early morning, so that travellers may be warned lest they should lose their way over wild moorland or bleak down, and, guided by the sound of the bell, may reach a place of safety.

An old lady once lost her way on the Lincolnshire wolds, nigh Boston, but was guided to her home by the sound of the church bell tolling at night. So grateful was she that she bequeathed a piece of land to the parish clerk on condition that he should ring one of the bells from seven to eight o'clock each evening during the winter months.

There is a piece of land called "Curfew Land" at St. Margaret's-at-Cliffe, Kent, the rent of which was directed to be paid to the clerk or other person who should ring the curfew every evening in order to warn travellers lest they should fall over the cliff, as the unfortunate donor of the land did, for want of the due and constant ringing of the bell.

In smuggling days, clerks, like many of their betters, were not immaculate. The venerable vicar of Worthing, the Rev. E. K. Elliott, records that the clerk of Broadwater was himself a smuggler, and in league with those who throve by the illicit trade. When a cargo was expected he would go up to the top of the spire, which afforded a splendid view of the sea, and when the coast was clear of preventive officers he would give the signal by hoisting a flag. Kegs of contraband spirits were frequently placed inside two huge tombs which have sliding tops, and which stand near the western porch of Worthing church.

The last run of smuggled goods in that neighbourhood was well within the recollection of the vicar, and took place in 1855. Some kegs were taken to Charman Dean and buried in the ground, and although diligent search was made, the smugglers baffled their pursuers.

At Soberton, Hants, there is an old vault near the chancel door. Now the flat stone is level with the ground; but in 1800 it rested on three feet of brickwork, and could be lifted off by two men. Here many kegs of spirit that paid no duty were deposited by an arrangement with the clerk, and the stone lifted on again. This secret hiding-place was never discovered, neither did the curate find out who requisitioned his horse when the nights favoured smugglers.

In the wild days of Cornish wreckers and wrecking, both priest and clerk are said to have taken part in the sharing of the tribute of the sea cast upon their rockbound coast. The historian of Cornwall, Richard Polwhele, tells of a wreck happening one Sunday morning just before service. The clerk, eager to be at the fray, announced to the assembled parishioners that "Measter would gee them a holiday."

I will not vouch for the truth of that other story told in the Encyclopaedia of Wit (1801), which runs as follows:

"A parson who lived on the coast of Cornwall, where one great business of the inhabitants is plundering from ships that are wrecked, being once preaching when the alarm was given, found that the sound of the wreck was so much more attractive than his sermon, that all his congregation were scampering out of church. To check their precipitation, he called out, 'My brethren, let me entreat you to stay for five words more'; and marching out of the pulpit, till he had got pretty near the door of the church, slowly pronounced, 'Let us all start fair,' and ran off with the rest of them."

An old parishioner of the famous Rev. R. S. Hawker once told him of a very successful run of a cargo of kegs, which the obliging parish clerk allowed the smugglers to place underneath the benches and in the tower stairs of the church. The old man told the story thus:

"We bribed Tom Hockaday, the sexton, and we had the goods safe in the seats by Saturday night. The parson did wonder at the large congregation, for divers of them were not regular churchgoers at other times; and if he had known what was going on, he could not have preached a more suitable discourse, for it was, 'Be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess.' It was one of his best sermons; but, there, it did not touch us, you see; for we never tasted anything but brandy and gin."

In such smuggling ways the clerk was no worse than his neighbours, who were all more or less involved in the illicit trade.

The old Cornish clerks who used to help the smugglers were a curious race of beings, remarkable for their familiar ways with the parson. At St. Clements the clergyman one day was reading the verse, "I have seen the ungodly flourish like a green bay tree," when the clerk looked up with an inquiring glance from the desk below, "How can that be, maister?" He was more familiar with the colour of a bay horse than the tints of a bay tree.

At Kenwyn two dogs, one of which belonged to the parson, 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. Returning to his pew, and doubtful where he had left off, he asked the clerk, "Roger, where was I?" "Why, down parting the dogs, maister," replied Roger.

Two rocks stand out on the South Devon coast near Dawlish, which are known as the Parson and Clerk. A wild, weird legend is told about these rocks—of a parson who desired the See of Exeter, and often rode with his clerk to Dawlish to hear the latest news of the bishop who was nigh unto death. The wanderers lost their way one dark night, and the parson exhibited most unclerical anger, telling his clerk that he would rather have the devil for a guide than him. Of course, the devil or one of his imps obliged, and conducted the wanderers to an old ruined house, where there was a large company of disguised demons. They all passed a merry night, singing and carousing. Then the news comes that the bishop is dead. The parson and clerk determine to set out at once. Their steeds are brought, but will not budge a step. The parson cuts savagely at his horse. The demons roar with unearthly laughter. The ruined house and all the devils vanish. The waves are overwhelming the riders, and in the morning the wretches are found clinging to the rocks with the grasp of death, which ever afterwards record their villainy and their fate.

Among tales of awe and weird mystery stands out the story of the adventures of Peter Priestly, clerk, sexton, and gravestone cutter, of Wakefield, who flourished at the end of the eighteenth century. He was an old and much respected inhabitant of the town, and not at all given to superstitious fears. One Saturday evening he went to the church to finish the epitaph on a stone which was to be in readiness for removal before Sunday. Arrived at the church, where he had his workshop, he set down his lantern and lighted his other candle, which was set in a primitive candlestick formed out of a potato. The church clock struck eleven, and still some letters remained unfinished, when he heard a strange sound, which seemed to say "Hiss!" "Hush!" He resumes his work undaunted. Again that awful voice breaks in once more. He lights his lantern and searches for its cause. In vain his efforts. He resolves to leave the church, but again remembers his promise and returns to his work. The mystic hour of midnight strikes. He has nearly finished, and bends down to examine the letters on the stone. Again he hears a louder "Hiss!" He now stands appalled. Terror seizes him. He has profaned the Sabbath, and the sentence of death has gone forth. With tottering steps Peter finds his way home and goes to bed. Sleep forsakes him. His wife ministers to him in vain. As morning dawns the good woman notices Peter's wig suspended on the great chair. "Oh, Peter," she cries, "what hast thou been doing to burn all t' hair off one side of thy wig?" "Ah! bless thee," says the clerk, "thou hast cured me with that word." The mysterious "hiss" and "hush" were sounds from the frizzling of Peter's wig by the flame of the candle, which to his imperfect sense of hearing imported things horrible and awful. Such is the story which a writer in Hone's Year Book tells, and which is said to have afforded Peter Priestly and the good people of merry Wakefield many a joke.

The Year Book is always full of interest, and in the same volume I find an account of a most worthy representative of the profession, one John Kent, the parish clerk of St. Albans, who died in 1798, aged eighty years. He was a very venerable and intelligent man, who did service in the old abbey church, long before the days when its beauties were desecrated by Grimthorpian restoration, or when it was exalted to cathedral rank. For fifty-two years Kent was the zealous clerk and custodian of the minster, and loved to describe its attractions. He was the friend of the learned Browne Willis. His name is mentioned in Cough's Sepulchral Monuments of Great Britain, and his intelligence and knowledge noticed, and Newcombe, the historian of the abbey, expressed his gratitude to the good clerk for much information imparted by him to the author. The monks could not have guarded the shrine of St. Alban with greater care than did Kent protect the relics of good Duke Humphrey. His veneration for all that the abbey contained was remarkable. A story is told of a gentleman who purloined a bone of the Duke. The clerk suspected the theft but could never prove it, though he sometimes taxed the gentleman with having removed the bone. At last, just before his death, the man restored it, saying to the clerk, "I could not depart easy with it in my possession."

Kent was a plumber and glazier by trade, in politics a staunch partisan of "the Blues," and on account of his sturdy independence was styled "Honest John." He performed his duties in the minster with much zeal and ability, his knowledge of psalmody was unsurpassed, his voice was strong and melodious, and he was a complete master of church music. Unlike many of his confreres, he liked to hear the congregation sing; but when country choirs came from neighbouring churches to perform in the abbey with instruments, contemptuously described by him as "a box of whistles," the congregation being unable to join in the melodies, he used to give out the anthem thus: "Sing ye to the praise and glory of God...." Five years before his death he had an attack of paralysis which slightly crippled his power of utterance, though this defect could scarcely be detected when he was engaged in the services of the church. Two days before his death he sang his "swan-song." Some colours were presented to the volunteers of the town, and were consecrated in the abbey. During the service he sang the 20th Psalm with all the strength and vivacity of youth. When his funeral sermon was preached the rector alluded to this dying effort, and said that on the day of the great service "Nature seemed to have reassumed her throne; and, as she knew it was to be his last effort, was determined it should be his best." The body of the good clerk, John Kent, rests in the abbey church which he loved so well, in a spot marked by himself, and we hope that the "restoration," somewhat drastic and severe, which has fallen upon the grand old church, has not obscured his grave or destroyed the memorial of this worthy and excellent clerk.



CHAPTER VII

THE CLERK IN EPITAPH

The virtues of many a parish clerk are recorded on numerous humble tombstones in village churchyards. The gratitude felt by both rector and people for many years of faithful service is thus set forth, sometimes couched in homely verse, and occasionally marred by the misplaced humour and jocular expressions and puns with which our forefathers thought fit to honour the dead. In this they were not original, and but followed the example of the Greeks and Romans, the Italians, Spaniards, and French. This objectionable fashion of punning on gravestones was formerly much in vogue in England, and such a prominent official as the clerk did not escape the attention of the punsters. Happily the quaint fancies and primitive humour, which delighted our grandsires in the production of rebuses and such-like pleasantries, no longer find themselves displayed upon the fabric of our churches, and the "merry jests" have ceased to appear upon the memorials of the dead. We will glance at the clerkly epitaphs of some of the worthies who have held the office of parish clerk who were deemed deserving of a memorial.

In the southern portion of the churchyard attached to St. Andrew's Church, Rugby, is a plain upright stone containing the following inscription:

In memory of Peter Collis 33 years Clerk of this Parish who died Feb'y 28th 1818 Aged 82 years

[Some lines of poetry follow, but these unfortunately are not now discernible.]

At the time Peter held office the incumbent was noted for his card-playing propensities, and the clerk was much addicted to cock-fighting. The following couplet relating to these worthies is still remembered:

No wonder the people of Rugby are all in the dark, With a card-playing parson and a cock-fighting clerk.

Peter's father was clerk before him, and on a stone to his memory is recorded as follows:

In memory of John Collis Husband of Eliz: Collis who liv'd in Wedlock together 50 years he served as Parish Clerk 41 years And died June 19th 1781 aged 69 years

Him who covered up the Dead Is himself laid in the same bed Time with his crooked scythe hath made Him lay his mattock down and spade May he and we all rise again To everlasting life AMEN.

The name Collis occurs amongst those who held the office of parish clerk at West Haddon. The Rev. John T. Page, to whom I am indebted for the above information[44], has gleaned the following particulars from the parish registers and other sources. The clerk who reigned in 1903 was Thomas Adams, who filled the position for eighteen years. He succeeded his father-in-law, William Prestidge, who died 24 March, 1886, after holding the office fifty-three years. His predecessor was Thomas Collis, who died 30 January, 1833, after holding the office fifty-two years, and succeeded John Colledge, who, according to an old weather-beaten stone still standing in the churchyard, died 12 September, 1781. How long Colledge held office cannot now be ascertained. Here are some remarkable examples of long years of service, Collis and Prestidge having held the office for 105 years.

[Footnote 44: cf. Notes and Queries, Tenth Series, ii., 10 September, 1904, p. 215.]

In Shenley churchyard the following remarkable epitaph appears to the memory of Joseph Rogers, who was a bricklayer as well as parish clerk:

Silent in dust lies mouldering here A Parish Clerk of voice most clear. None Joseph Rogers could excel In laying bricks or singing well; Though snapp'd his line, laid by his rod, We build for him our hopes in God.

A remarkable instance of longevity is recorded on a tombstone in Cromer churchyard. The inscription runs:

Sacred to the memory of David Vial who departed this life the 26th of March, 1873, aged 94 years, for sixty years clerk of this parish.

At the village church of Whittington, near Oswestry, there is a well-known epitaph, which is worth recording:

March 13th 1766 died Thomas Evans, Parish Clerk, aged 72.

Old Sternhold's lines or "Vicar of Bray" Which he tuned best 'twas hard to say.

Another remarkable instance of longevity is that recorded on a tombstone in the cemetery of Eye, Suffolk, erected to the memory of a faithful clerk:

Erected to the memory of George Herbert who was clerk of this parish for more than 71 years and who died on the 17th May 1873 aged 81 years.

This monument Is erected to his memory by his grateful Friend the Rev. W. Page Roberts Vicar of Eye.

Herbert must have commenced his duties very early in life; according to the inscription, at the age of ten years.

At Scothorne, in Lincolnshire, there is a sexton-ringer-clerk epitaph on John Blackburn's tombstone, dated 1739-40. It reads thus:

Alas poor John Is dead and gone Who often toll'd the Bell And with a spade Dug many a grave And said Amen as well.

The Roes were a great family of clerks at Bakewell, and the two members who occupied that office at the end of the eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth century seem to have been endowed with good voices, and with a devoted attachment to the church and its monuments. Samuel Roe had the honour of being mentioned in the Gentleman's Magazine, and receives well-deserved praise for his care of the fabric of Bakewell Church, and his epitaph is given, which runs as follows:

To The memory of SAMUEL ROE Clerk of the Parish Church of Bakewell, which office he filled thirty-five years with credit to himself and satisfaction to the inhabitants. His natural powers of voice, in clearness, strength, and sweetness were altogether unequalled. He died October 31st, 1792 Aged 70 years

The correspondent of the Gentleman's Magazine wrote thus of this faithful clerk:

"Mr. Urban,

"It was with much concern that I read the epitaph upon Mr. Roe in your last volume, page 1192. Upon a little tour which I made in Derbyshire in 1789, I met with that worthy and very intelligent man at Bakewell, and in the course of my antiquarian researches there, derived no inconsiderable assistance from his zeal and civility. If he did not possess the learning of his namesake, your old and valuable correspondent[45], I will venture to declare that he was not less influenced by a love and veneration for antiquity, many proofs of which he had given by his care and attention to the monuments of the church which were committed to his charge; for he united the characters of sexton, clerk, singing-master, will-maker, and schoolmaster. Finding that I was quite alone, he requested permission to wait upon me at the inn in the evening, urging as a reason for this request that he must be exceedingly gratified by the conversation of a gentleman who could read the characters upon the monument of Vernon, the founder of Haddon House, a treat he had not met with for many years. After a very pleasant gossip we parted, but not till my honest friend had, after some apparent struggle, begged of me to indulge him with my name."

[Footnote 45: T. Row stands for The Rector Of Whittington, the Rev. Samuel Pegge. cf. Curious Epitaphs, by W. Andrews, p. 124.]

To this worthy clerk's care is due the preservation of the Vernon and other monuments in Bakewell Church. Mr. Andrews tells us that "in some instances he placed a wooden framework to keep off the rough hands and rougher knives of the boys and young men of the congregation. He also watched with special care the Wenderley tomb, and even took careful rubbings of the inscriptions[46]."

[Footnote 46: W. Andrews, Curious Epitaphs, p. 124.]

The inscription on the tomb of the son of this worthy clerk proves that he inherited his father's talents as regards musical ability:

Erected In remembrance of PHILIP ROE Who died 12th September, 1815, Aged 52 years.

The vocal Powers here let us mark Of Philip our late Parish Clerk, In church none ever heard a Layman With a clearer voice say 'Amen'! Who now with Hallelujahs sound Like him can make this roof rebound? The Choir lament his Choral Tones The Town—so soon Here lie his Bones. Sleep undisturb'd within thy peaceful shrine Till Angels wake thee with such notes as thine.

The last two lines are a sweet and tender tribute truly to the memory of this melodious clerk.

A writer in All the Year Round[47], who has been identified as Cuthbert Bede, the author of the immortal Verdant Green, tells of the Osbornes and Worrals, famous families of clerks, quoting instances of the hereditary nature of the office. He wrote as follows concerning them:

[Footnote 47: No. 624, New Series, p. 83.]

"As a boy I often attended the service at Belbroughton Church, Worcestershire, when the clerk was Mr. Osborne, tailor. His family had been parish clerks and tailors since the time of Henry VIII, and were lineally descended from William Fitz-Osborne, who in the twelfth century had been deprived by Ralph Fitz-Herbert of his right to the manor of Bellam, in the parish of Bellroughton. Often have I stood in the picturesque churchyard of Wolverley, Worcestershire, by the grave of the old parish clerk, whom I well remember, old Thomas Worrall, the inscription on whose monument is as follows:

Sacred to the memory of THOMAS WORRALL, parish clerk of Wolverley for a period of forty-seven years. Died A.D. 1854, February 23rd. He served with faithfulness in humble sphere As one who could his talents well employ, Hope that when Christ his Lord shall reappear, He may be bidden to his Master's joy.

This tombstone was erected to the memory of the deceased by a few parishioners in testimony of his worth, April 1855.

Charles R. Somers Cocks, Vicar.

It may be noted of this worthy clerk that, with the exception of a week or two before his death, he was never absent from his Sunday and weekday duties in the forty-seven years during which he held office.

He succeeded his father, James Worrall, who died in 1806, aged seventy-nine, after being parish clerk of Wolverley for thirty years. His tombstone, near to that of his son, was erected "to record his worth both in his public and private character, and as a mark of personal esteem—p. 1. F.H. and W.C. p.c." I am told that these initials stand for F. Hustle, and the Rev. William Callow, and that the latter was the author of the following lines inscribed on the monument, which are well worth quoting:

If courtly bards adorn each statesman's bust And strew their laurels o'er each warrior's dust, Alike immortalise, as good and great, Him who enslaved as him who saved the State, Surely the Muse (a rustic minstrel) may Drop one wild flower upon a poor man's clay. This artless tribute to his mem'ry give Whose life was such as heroes seldom live. In worldly knowledge, poor indeed his store— He knew the village, and he scarce knew more. The worth of heavenly truth he justly knew— In faith a Christian, and in practice too. Yes, here lies one, excel him ye who can: Go! imitate the virtues of that man!

The famous "Amen" epitaph at Crayford, Kent, is well known, though the name of the clerk who is thus commemorated is sometimes forgotten. It is to the memory of one Peter Snell, who repeated his "Amens" diligently for a period of thirty years, and runs as follows:

Here lieth the body of Peter Snell, Thirty years clerk of this Parish. He lived respected as a pious and mirthful man, and died on his way to church to assist at a wedding, on the 31st of March, 1811, Aged seventy years.

The inhabitants of Crayford have raised this stone to his cheerful memory, and as a tribute to his long and faithful services.

The life of this clerk was just threescore and ten, Nearly half of which time he had sung out Amen. In his youth he had married like other young men, But his wife died one day—so he chanted Amen. A second he took—she departed—what then? He married and buried a third with Amen. Thus his joys and his sorrows were treble, but then His voice was deep base, as he sung out Amen. On the horn he could blow as well as most men, So his horn was exalted to blowing Amen. But he lost all his wind after threescore and ten, And here with three wives he waits till again The trumpet shall rouse him to sing out Amen.



The duties of sexton and parish clerk were usually performed by one person, as we have already frequently noticed, and therefore it is fitting that we should record the epitaph of Old Scarlett, most famous of grave-diggers, who buried two queens, both the victims of stern persecution, ill-usage, and Tudor tyranny—Catherine, the divorced wife of Henry VIII, and poor sinning Mary Queen of Scots. His famous picture in Peterborough Cathedral, on the wall of the western transept, usually attracts the chief attention of the tourist, and has preserved his name and fame. He is represented with a spade, pickaxe, keys, and a whip in his leathern girdle, and at his feet lies a skull. In the upper left-hand corner appear the arms of the see of Peterborough, save that the cross-keys are converted into cross-swords. The whip at his girdle appears to show that Old Scarlett occupied the position of dog-whipper as well as sexton. There is a description of this portrait in the Book of Days, wherein the writer says:

"What a lively effigy—short, stout, hardy, self-complacent, perfectly satisfied, and perhaps even proud of his profession, and content to be exhibited with all its insignia about him! Two queens had passed through his hands into that bed which gives a lasting rest to queens and to peasants alike. An officer of death, who had so long defied his principal, could not but have made some impression on the minds of bishop, dean, prebends, and other magnates of the cathedral, and hence, as we may suppose, the erection of this lively portraiture of the old man, which is believed to have been only once renewed since it was first put up. Dr. Dibdin, who last copied it, tells us that 'old Scarlett's jacket and trunkhose are of a brownish red, his stockings blue, his shoes black, tied with blue ribbons, and the soles of his feet red. The cap upon his head is red, and so also is the ground of the coat armour.'" Beneath the portrait are these lines:

YOU SEE OLD SCARLETTS PICTURE STAND ON HIE BUT AT YOUR FEETE THERE DOTH HIS BODY LYE HIS GRAVESTONE DOTH HIS AGE AND DEATH TIME SHOW HIS OFFICE BY THEIS TOKENS YOU MAY KNOW SECOND TO NONE FOR STRENGTH AND STURDYE LIMM A SCARBABE MIGHTY VOICE WITH VISAGE GRIM HEE HAD INTER'D TWO QUEENES WITHIN THIS PLACE AND THIS TOWNES HOUSEHOLDERS IN HIS LIVES SPACE TWICE OVER: BUT AT LENGTH HIS OWN TURNE CAME WHAT HE FOR OTHERS DID FOR HIM THE SAME WAS DONE: NO DOUBT HIS SOUL DOTH LIVE FOR AYE IN HEAVEN: THOUGH HERE HIS BODY CLAD IN CLAY.

On the floor is a stone inscribed "JULY 2 1594 R.S. aetatis 98." This painting is not a contemporary portrait of the old sexton, but a copy made in 1747.

The sentiment expressed in the penult couplet is not uncommon, the idea of retributive justice, of others performing the last offices for the clerk who had so often done the like for his neighbours. The same notion is expressed in the epitaph of Frank Raw, clerk and monumental mason, of Selby, Yorkshire, which runs as follows:

Here lies the body of poor FRANK RAW Parish clerk and gravestone cutter, And this is writ to let you know What Frank for others used to do Is now for Frank done by another[48].

[Footnote 48: Curious Epitaphs, by W. Andrews, p. 120.]

The achievement of Old Scarlett with regard to his interring "the town's householders in his life's space twice over," has doubtless been equalled by many of the long-lived clerks whose memoirs have been recorded, but it is not always recorded on a tombstone. At Ratcliffe-on-Soar there is, however, the grave of an old clerk, one Robert Smith, who died in 1782, at the advanced age of eighty-two years, and his epitaph records the following facts:

Fifty-five years it was, and something more, Clerk of this parish he the office bore, And in that space, 'tis awful to declare, Two generations buried by him were[49]!

[Footnote 49: Ibid. p. 121.]

It is recorded on the tomb of Hezekiah Briggs, who died in 1844 in his eightieth year, the clerk and sexton of Bingley, Yorkshire, that "he buried seven thousand corpses[50]."

[Footnote 50: Notes and Queries, Ninth Series, xii. 453.]

The verses written in his honour are worth quoting:

Here lies an old ringer beneath the cold clay Who has rung many peals both for serious and gay; Through Grandsire and Trebles with ease he could range, Till death called Bob, which brought round the last change.

For all the village came to him When they had need to call; His counsel free to all was given, For he was kind to all.

Ring on, ring' on, sweet Sabbath bell, Still kind to me thy matins swell, And when from earthly things I part, Sigh o'er my grave and lull my heart.

These last four lines strike a sweet note, and are far superior to the usual class of monumental poetry. I will not guarantee the correct copying of the third and fourth lines. Various copyists have produced various versions. One version runs:

Bob majors and trebles with ease he could bang, Till Death called a bob which brought the last clang.

In Staple-next-Wingham, Kent, there is a stone to the memory of the parish clerk who died in 1820, aged eighty-six years, and thus inscribed:

He was honest and just, in friendship sincere, And Clerk of this Parish for sixty-seven years.

At Worth Church, Sussex, near the south entrance is a headstone, inscribed thus:

In memory of John Alcorn, Clerk and Sexton of this parish, who died Dec. 13: 1868 in the 81st year of his age.

Thine honoured friend for fifty three full years, He saw each bridal's joy, each Burial's tears; Within the walls, by Saxons reared of old, By the stone sculptured font of antique mould, Under the massive arches in the glow, Tinged by dyed sun-beams passing to and fro, A sentient portion of the sacred place, A worthy presence with a well-worn face. The lich-gate's shadow, o'er his pall at last Bids kind adieu as poor old John goes past. Unseen the path, the trees, the old oak door, No more his foot-falls touch the tomb-paved floor, His silvery head is hid, his service done Of all these Sabbaths absent only one. And now amidst the graves he delved around, He rests and sleeps, beneath the hallowed ground.

Keep Innocency, and take heed unto the thing that is right, For that shall bring a man peace at the last. Psalm XXXVII. 38.

There is an interesting memorial of an aged parish clerk in Cropthorne Church, Worcestershire, an edifice of considerable note. It consists of a small painted-glass window in the tower, containing a full-length portrait of the deceased official, duly apparelled in a cassock.

There is in the King's Norton parish churchyard an old gravestone the existence of which I dare say a good many people had forgotten until recently, owing to the inscription having become almost illegible. Within the past few weeks it has been renovated, and thus a record has been prevented from dropping out of public memory. The stone sets forth that it was erected to the memory of Isaac Ford, a shoemaker, who was for sixty-two years parish clerk of King's Norton, and who died on 10 July, 1755, aged eighty-five years. Beneath is another interesting inscription to the effect that Henry Ford, son of Isaac, who died on 11 July, 1795, aged eighty-one, was also parish clerk for forty years. The two men thus held continuous office for one hundred and two years. This is a famous record of long service, though it has been surpassed by a few others, our parish clerks being a long-lived race.

At Stoulton Church a clerk died in 1812, and it is recorded on his epitaph that "He was clerk of this parish more 30 years and much envied." It was not his office or his salary which was envied, but "a worn't much liked by the t'others," and yet followed the verse:

A loving' husband, father dear, A faithful friend lies buried here.

An epitaph without a "werse" was considered very degrading.



CHAPTER VIII

THE WORSHIPFUL COMPANY OF PARISH CLERKS

The story of the City companies of London has many attractions for the historian and antiquary. When we visit the ancient homes of these great societies we are impressed by their magnificence and interesting associations. Portraits of old City worthies and royal benefactors gaze at us from the walls, and link our time with theirs, when they, too, strove to uphold the honour of their guild and benefit their generation. Many a quaint old-time custom and ceremonial usage linger on within the old halls, and there too are enshrined cuirass and targe, helmet, sword and buckler, which tell the story of the past, and of the part the companies played in national defence or in the protection of civic rights. Turning down some dark alley and entering the portals of one of their halls, we are transported at once from the busy streets and din of modern London into a region of old-world memories which has a fascination that is all its own.



This is not the place to discuss the origin of guilds and City companies, which can trace back their descent to Anglo-Saxon times and were usually of a religious type. They were the benefit societies of ancient days, institutions of self-help, combining care for the needy with the practice of religion, justice, and morality. There were guilds exclusively religious, guilds of the calendars for the clergy, social guilds for the purpose of promoting good fellowship, benevolence, and thrift, merchant guilds for the regulation of trade, and frith guilds for the promotion of peace and the establishment of law and order.

In this goodly company we find evidences at an early date of the existence of the Fraternity of Parish Clerks. Its long and important career, though it ranked not with the Livery Companies, and sent not its members to take part in the deliberations of the Common Council, is full of interest, and reflects the greatest credit on the worthy clerks who composed it.

In other cities besides London the clerks seem to have formed their guilds. As early as the time of the Domesday Survey there was a clerks' guild at Canterbury, wherein it is stated "In civitate Cantuaria habet achiepiscopus xii burgesses and xxxii mansuras which the clerks of the town, clerici de villa, hold within their gild and do yield xxxv shillings."

The first mention of the company carries us back to the early days of Henry III, when in the seventeenth year of that monarch's reign (A.D. 1233), according to Stow, they were incorporated and registered in the books of the Guildhall. The patron saint of the company was St. Nicholas, who also extended his patronage to robbers and mariners. Thieves are dubbed by Shakespeare as St. Nicholas's clerks[51], and Rowley calls highwaymen by the same title. Possibly this may be accounted for by the association of the light-fingered fraternity with Nicholas, or Old Nick, a cant name for the devil, or because The Golden Legend tells of the conversion of some thieves through the saint's agency. At any rate, the good Bishop of Myra was the patron saint of scholars, and therefore was naturally selected as tutelary guardian of clerks.

[Footnote 51: Henry IV, act ii. sc. 1.]

In 1442 Henry VI granted a charter to "the Chief or Parish Clerks of the City of London for the honour and glory of Almighty God and of the undefiled and most glorious Virgin Mary, His Mother, and on account of that special devotion, which they especially bore to Christ's glorious confessor, St. Nicholas, on whose day or festival we were first presented into this present world, at the hands of a mother of memory ever to be revered." The charter states that they had maintained a poor brotherhood of themselves, as well as a certain divine service, and divine words of charity and piety, devised and exhibited by them year by year, for forty years or more by part; and it conferred on them the right of a perpetual corporate community, having two roasters and two chaplains to celebrate divine offices every day, for the King's welfare whether alive or dead, and for the souls of all faithful departed, for ever. By special royal grace they were allowed, on petitioning His Majesty, to have the charter without paying any fine or fee.

Seven years later a second charter was granted, wherein it is stated that their services were held in the Chapel of Mary Magdalene by the Guildhall. "Bretherne and Sisterne" were included in the fraternity. Bad times and the Wars of the Roses brought distress to the community, and they prayed Edward IV to refound their guild, allowing only the maintenance of one chaplain instead of two in the chapel nigh the Guildhall, together with the support of seven poor persons who daily offered up their prayers for the welfare of the King and the repose of the souls of the faithful. They provided "a prest, brede, wyne, wex, boke, vestments and chalise for their auter of S. Nicholas in the said chapel." The King granted their request.



The original home of the guild was in Bishopsgate. Brewers' Hall was, in 1422, lent to them for their meetings. But the old deeds in the possession of the company show that as early as 1274 they acquired property "near the King's highway in the parish of St. Ethelburga, extending from the west side of the garden of the Nuns of St. Helen's to near the stone wall of Bishopsgate on the north, in breadth from the east side of William the Whit Tawyer's to the King's highway on the south." These two highways are now known as Bishopsgate Street and Camomile Street. They had property also at Finsbury on the east side of Whitecross Street. Inasmuch as the guild did not in those early days possess a charter and was not incorporated, it had no power to hold property; hence the lands were transmitted to individual members of the fraternity[52]. After their incorporation in 1442 the trustees of the lands and possessions were all clerks. Another property belonged to them at Enfield.

[Footnote 52: The transmission of the property is carefully traced in Some Account of Parish Clerks, by Mr. James Christie, p. 78. He had access to the company's muniments.]

The chief possession of the clerks was the Bishopsgate property. It consisted of an inn called "The Wrestlers," another inn which bore the sign of "The Angel," and a fair entry or gate near the latter which still bears the name Clerks' Place. Wrestlers' Court still marks the site of the old inn—so conservative are the old names in the city of London. Passing through the entry we should have seen seven modest almshouses for the brethren and sisters of the guilds. Beyond these was the hall of the company. It consisted of a parlour (36 ft. by 14 ft.), with three chambers over it. The east side with fan glasses overlooked the garden, 72 ft. in length by 21 ft. wide. The west side was lined with wainscot. The actual hall adjoined, a fine room 30 ft. by 25 ft., with a gallery at the nether end, with a little parlour at the west end. A room for the Bedell, a kitchen with a vault under it, larder-rooms, buttery, and a little house called the Ewery, completed the buildings. It must have been a very delightful little home for the company, not so palatial as that of some of the greater guilds, but compact, charming, and altogether attractive.

But evil days set in for the City companies of London. Spoliation, greed, destruction were in the air. Churches, monasteries, charities felt the rude hand of the spoiler, and it could scarcely be that the rich corporations of the City should fail to attract the covetous eyes of the rapacious courtiers. They were forced to surrender all their property which had been used for so-called "superstitious" purposes, and most of them bought this back with large sums of money, which went into the coffers of the King or his ministers. The Parish Clerks' Company fared no better than the rest. Their hall was seized by the King, or rather by the infamous courtiers of Edward VI, and sold, together with the almshouses, to Sir Robert Chester in 1548. He at once took possession of the property, but the clerks protested that they had been wrongfully despoiled, and again seized their rightful possessions. In spite of the sympathy and support of the Lord Mayor, who "communed with the wardens of the Great Companies for their gentle aid to be granted to the parish clerks towards their charges in defence of their title to their Common Hall and lands," the clerks lost their case, and were compelled to give up their home or submit to a heavy fine of 1000 marks besides imprisonment. The poor dispossessed clerks were defeated, but not disheartened. In the days of Queen Mary they renewed their suit, and "being likely to have prevailed, Sir Robert Chester pulled down the hall, sold the timber, stone and land, and thereupon the suit was ended"—very summary conclusion truly!

The Lord Mayor and his colleagues again showed sympathy and compassion for the dispossessed clerks, and offered them the church of the Hospital of St. Mary of Bethlehem in 1552 for their meetings. They did not lack friends. William Roper, whose picture still hangs in the hall of the company, the son-in-law of Sir Thomas More, was a great benefactor, who bequeathed to them some tenements in Southwark on condition that they should distribute L4 among the poor prisoners in Newgate and other jails. He was the biographer of Sir Thomas More, and died in 1577.

In 1610 the clerks applied for a new charter, and obtained it from James I, under the title of "The Parish Clerks of the Parishes and Parish Churches of the City of London, the liberties thereof and seven out of nine out-parishes adjoining." They were required to make returns for the bills of mortality and of the deaths of freemen. The masters and wardens had power granted to them to examine clerks as to whether they could sing the Psalms of David according to the usual tunes used in the parish churches, and whether they were sufficiently qualified to make their weekly returns. In 1636 a new charter was granted by Charles I, and again in 1640, this last charter being that by which the company is now governed. By this instrument their jurisdiction was extended so as to include Hackney and the other fifteen out-parishes, and they gained the right of collecting their own wages, and of suing for it in the ecclesiastical courts, and of printing the bills of mortality.

Soon after the company lost their hall through the high-handed proceedings of Sir Robert Chester, they purchased or leased a new hall, which was situated at the north-east corner of Brode Lane, Vintry, where they lived from 1562, until the Great Fire in 1666 again made them homeless. The Sun Tavern in Leadenhall Street, the Green Dragon, Queenhythe, the Quest House, Cripplegate, the Gun, near Aldgate, and the Mitre in Fenchurch Street, afforded them temporary accommodation. In 1669 they began to arrange for a new hall to be built off Wood Street, which was completed in 1671, and has since been their home. Various sums of money have been voted at different times for its repair or embellishment. It has once been damaged by fire, and on another occasion severely threatened. In 1825 the entrance into Wood Street was blocked up and the entrance into Silver Street opened. The hall has been a favourite place of meeting for several other companies—the Fruiterers' Company, the Tinplate Workers' Company, the Society of Porters, and other private companies have been their tenants.



I had recently the privilege of visiting the Parish Clerks' Hall, and was kindly conducted there by Mr. William John Smith, the "Father" of the company, and a liberal benefactor, whose portrait hangs in the hall. He has been three times master, and his father and grandfather were members of the fraternity.

The premises consist of a ground floor with cellars, which are let for private purposes, and a first floor with two rooms of moderate size. The old courtyard is now covered with business offices. Over the court-room door stands a copy of the Clerks' Arms, which are thus described: "The feyld azur, a flower de lice goulde on chieffe gules, a leopard's head betwen two pricksonge bookes of the second, the laces that bind the books next, and to the creast upon the healme, on a wreathe gules and azur, an arm, from the elbow upwards, holding a pricking book, 30th March, 1582." These are the arms "purged of superstition" by Robert Cook, Clarencieux Herald, on the aforementioned date. The company's motto is, Unitas Societatis Stabilitas. The arms over the court-room door have the motto Pange lingua gloriosa, which is accounted for by the fact that this copy of the clerks' heraldic achievement formerly stood over the organ in the hall. This organ is a small but pleasant instrument, and was purchased in 1737 in order to enable the members to practise psalmody. Several portraits of worthy clerks adorn the walls. Amongst them we notice that of William Roper, a benefactor of the company, whose name has been already mentioned.

The portrait of John Clarke shows a firm, dignified old man, who was the parish clerk of St. Michael's, Cornhill, in 1805, and wrote extracts from the minute-books of the company. The picture was presented to the company in 1827. There are other portraits of worthy clerks, of Richard Hust, who died in 1835, and was a great benefactor of the company and the restorer of the almshouses; of James Mayhew (1896), and of William John Smith (1903).

In one of the windows is the portrait, in stained glass, of John Clarke, parish clerk of Bartholomew-the-Less, London, master of the company, A.D. 1675, aetatis suae 45. He is represented with a dark skull cap on his head, long hair, a moustache, and a large falling band or collar.

There are also portraits in stained glass of Stephen Penckhurst, parish clerk of St. Mary Magdalene, Fish Street, London, master in 1685; of James Maddox, parish clerk of St. Olive's, Jury, master in 1684; of Nicholas Hudles, parish clerk of St. Andrew's, Undershaft, twice master, in 1674 and 1682; of Thomas Williams, parish clerk of St. Mary Magdalene, Bermondsey, master in 1680; of Robert Seal, parish clerk of St. Gregory, master in 1681; of William Disbrow, parish clerk of St. Vedast, Foster Lane, and of St. Michael Le Querne, master in 1674; and of William Hornbuck, parish clerk of St. James, Clerkenwell, master in 1679.

One of the windows has a curious emblematical representation of music and its effects, showing King David surrounded by cherubs. The royal arms of the time of Charles II, the arms of the company, the arms of the Prince of Wales, and a portrait of Queen Anne also appear in the windows.

The master's chair was presented by Samuel Andrews, master in 1716, which date appears on the back together with the arms of the company, the crest being an arm raised bearing a scroll on which is inscribed the ninety-fourth Psalm. The seat of the chair is cane webbing. Psalm x. is inscribed on the front, and below is the fleur-de-lis.



There is an interesting warden's or clerk's chair, made of mahogany, dating about the middle of the eighteenth century, and some walnut chairs fashioned in 1690.

Amongst other treasures I noticed an old Dutch chest, an ancient clock, the gift of the master and wardens in 1786, a reprint of Visscher's View of London in 1616, the grant of arms to the company, a panel painting of the Flight into Egypt, and the Orders and Rules of the company in 1709.

A snuff-box made of the wood of the Victory, mounted in silver, is one of the clerks' valued possessions, and they have a goodly store of plate, in spite of the fact that they, like many of their distinguished brethren, the Livery Companies of the City, have been obliged at various critical times in their history to dispose of their plate in order to meet the heavy demands upon their treasury. They still possess their pall, which is used on the occasion of the funeral of deceased members, and also "two garlands of crimson velvet embroidered" bearing the date 1601, which were formerly used at the election of the two masters. The master now wears a silver badge, the gift of Richard Perkins in 1879, which bears the inscription: Hoc insigne in usum Magistri D.D. Richardus Perkins, SS. Augustini et Fidis Clericus, his Magistri 1878, 1879.

By far the most interesting document in the possession of the company is the Bede Roll, which contains a list of the members of the fraternity from the time of Henry VI. The writing is magnificent, and the lettering varies in colours—red, blue, and black ink having been used. Amongst the distinguished names of the honorary members I noticed John Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, and Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury.

The company, by the aid of generous benefactors, looks well after the poor widows of clerks and the decayed brethren, bestowing upon them adequate pensions for their support in their indigence and old age. These benefactions entrusted to the care of the company, and the gifts by its members of plate and other treasures, show the affectionate regard of the parish clerks for their ancient and interesting associations, which has done much to preserve the dignity of the office, to keep inviolate its traditions, and to improve the status of its members.



CHAPTER IX

THE CLERKS OF LONDON: THEIR DUTIES AND PRIVILEGES

A brief study of the history of the Parish Clerks' Company has already revealed the important part which its members played in the old City life of London. They were intimately connected with the Corporation. The clerks held their services in the Guildhall Chapel, and were required on Michaelmas Day to sing the Mass before the Lord Mayor, aldermen, and commoners before they went to the election of a new Lord Mayor. As early as the days of the famous Richard Whittington, on the occasion of his first election to the mayoralty, which as the popular rhyme says he held three times, we hear of their services being required for this great function.