The following is an authentic account, from the “Antiquarian Repertory,” of the incumbents of a vicarage near Bridgenorth in Shropshire. Its annual revenue, till the death of the last incumbent here mentioned, was not more than about seventy pounds per annum, although it is a very large and populous parish, containing at least twenty hamlets or townships, and is scarcely any where less than four or five miles in diameter. By a peculiar idiom in that country, the inhabitants of this large district are said to live “in Worfield-home:” and the adjacent, or not far distant, parishes (each of them containing, in like manner, many townships, or hamlets) are called Claverly, or Clarely-home, Tatnall-home, Womburn-home, or, as the terminating word is every where pronounced in that neighbourhood, “whome.” “A list of the vicars of Worfield in the diocese of Lichfield and Coventry, and in the county of Salop, from 1564 to 1763, viz. “Demerick, vicar, last popish priest, conformed during the six first years of Elizabeth. He died 1564. Barney, vicar 44 years; died 1608. Barney, vicar 56 years; died 1664. Hancocks, vicar 42 years; died 1707. Adamson, vicar 56 years; died 1763. Only 4 vicars in 199 years.” * * * * * SPELLING FOR A WAKE. Proclamation was made a few years ago, at Tewkesbury, from a written paper, of which the following is a copy:-- “HOBNAIL’S WAKE--This his to give notis on Tusday next--a Hat to be playd at bac sord fore. Two Belts to be tuseld fore. A plum cack to be gump in bags fowr. A pond of backer to be bold for, and a showl to danc lot by wimen.” THE BEAUTIES OF SOMERSET. A BALLAD. I’m a Zummerzetzhire man, Zhew me better if you can, In the North, Zouth, East, or West; I waz born in Taunton Dean, Of all places ever seen The richest and the best. OLD BALLAD Tune, _Alley Croker_. That Britain’s like a precious gem Set in the silver ocean, Our Shakspeare sung, and none condemn Whilst most approve the notion,-- But various parts, we now declare, Shine forth in various splendour, And those bright beams that shine most fair, The western portions render;-- O the counties, the matchless western counties, But far the best, Of all the rest, Is Somerset for ever. For come with me, and we’ll survey Our hills and vallies over, Our vales, where clear brooks bubbling stray Through meads of blooming clover; Our hills, that rise in giant pride, With hollow dells between them, Whose sable forests, spreading wide, Enrapture all who’ve seen them; O the counties, &c.