these people believed it was as true as the Bible, because it claimed to be about Bible characters. Evison was a diligent reader of newspapers, which were much fewer in his day, and studied diligently the sermons reported in the local Press. He was much puzzled by the reference to "the leg end" of the story of the raising of Lazarus in a sermon preached by the Bishop of London, afterwards Archbishop Tait. A reference to Bailey's Dictionary and the finding of the word _legend_ made matters clear. Of course he miscalled words. During the Russian War he told Mr. Hemmans that we were not fighting for "territororial possessions," and he always read "Moabites and Hungarians" in his rendering of the sixth verse of the 83rd Psalm. After the resignation of Mr. Yard in 1859 a Low Churchman was appointed, who restored the use of the black gown. Mr. Hemmans had to preach in the evening of the first Sunday, and was undecided as to whether he ought to continue to use the surplice. He consulted Evison, whose brave advice was, "Stick to your colours." The clerk stuck stoutly to his Radical principles, and one day went to Lincoln to take part in a contested election. On the following Sunday the vicar spoke of "the filthy stream of politics." The old man was rather moved by this, and said afterwards, "Well, I am not too old to learn." Though staunch to his own principles, he was evidently considerate towards the opinions of others. He used to keep a pony and gig, and his foreman, one Solomon Bingham, was a local preacher. When there came a rough Sunday morning the kind old clerk would say: "Well, Solomon, where are you going to seminate your schism to-day? You may have my trap." Canon Hemmans retains a very affectionate regard for the memory of the old clerk. * * * * * Mrs. Ellen M. Burrows sends me a charming description of an old-fashioned service, and some clerkly manners which are worth recording. From twenty-five to thirty years ago the small Bedfordshire village of Tingrith had quaint customs and ceremonies which to-day exist only in the memory of the few. The lady of the manor was perhaps best described by a neighbouring squire as a "potentate in petticoats." Being sole owner of the village, she found employment for all the men, enforced cleanliness on all the women, greatly encouraged the industry of lace-making and hat-sewing, paid for the schooling of the children, and looked after the morals of everybody generally. Legend has it that one ancient schoolmaster whom this good lady appointed was not overgood at spelling, and would allow a pupil to laboriously spell out a word and wait for him to explain. If the master could not do this he would pretend to be preoccupied, and advise the pupil to "say 'wheelbarrow' and go on."