CLERICAL HUMOUR.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 18, Issue 44, 31 May 1907, Page 7

CLERICAL HUMOUR.

There is combined humour and pathos in the story of the clergyman who went to see a navvy just after he had buried his wife. "I’m come to say how I feel for you, Bill; it's a sad business,” began the visitor. " 'Tis all that, sir, I feels pretty well mazed,” was the reply. “Poor chap ! I don’t .wonder at it.” "I ain't got the 'cart left in mo even to swear,” explained Bill, confidentially, “not as 'ow there’s anybody to swear at now,” he added, thoughtfully, with a sad look. The vicar of a certain couni ry parish was what the old-fashioned folk of the place called ‘‘a properly wellconducted gentleman,” prim, precise, and lacking in no good quality save a sense of humour, which was conspicuously absent. “It’s a damp, nasty day,” he observed as he. seated himself in the cottage of an elderly parishioner, who was a regular attendant at his church. “Yes, sir, it is,” replied the old lady with hesitation, “but I hardly expected to hear such a thing said by a gentleman like yourself, sir,” she added, eyeing the vicar with grave displeasure. She had mistaken the word “damp ” for a much less innocent expression. Not infrequently the parson may expect some frank pieces of personal criticism in the course of his pastoral visits. After calling one day at a farmhouse, the clergyman strolled on afterwards into the haytields where the men were cutting grass, “Looking out for a job, sir asked the farmer by way of a genial greeting. “I don’t mind lending a hand,” replied the parson, falling in with his humour. Ho took the scythe and did his best It was a very poor exhibition. Not a single clean stroke could he make, the point of his'instrument sticking in the ground hopelessly at each attorn pt. “That’s summat like your sarmons sir,” ''observed, the farmer, with the frank air of a man making rather a happy allusion to an undisputed fact Rven more sweeping' was the opinion expressed by a woman in the Pottery district. The curate was visiting in turn each house in a squalid street. Lounging in the doorway of one wretched hovel was a lady of forbidding aspect. She beckoned the curate to her. “Hi, lad, .1 want ye,” she shouted. The curate obeyed the peremptory summons. ’‘ J- called to you to say I don’t like you, and I never shall like you, and I alius speaks my mind,” observed ihe woman, to the great apparent ease of her conscience, Jt is queer to notice the kind of qualities the pour sometime,-! admire in a clergyman. The incumbent of a large (own parish was notorious for being late. No matter whether it was a wedding, \ funeral, a meeting, a church service, or a social engagement, he would invariably turn up panting and heated just after, instead of just before, the appointed- time, „ His curates wore often fated to hear complaints upon the subject, from aggrieved parishioners, and had to use all the discretion at I heir command to avoid the damaging topic.

Due of thorn was in the habit of cnnsiantiy visiting an old man who

was a very staunch Dissenter, a member of a small and extremely bigoted sect. The curate was considerably amused by the old man who hated the Church and all its ways. They would argue by the hour and both being of a militant type they .enjoyed themselves immensely and were fast friends. One clay Die curate discovered tl.e single good point his an! agonist had found about Church clergyman in the whole course- of his long life. “I will say one thing.” remarked the old man with an emphatic thump on the table. 'T give your vicar his due. lie’s got zeal. I like to see that. Why, times out o’ number as I've been sealed at my window, I’ve seem him positively running to the House of God. That’s zeal ! lie may be denuded, his eyes may he blinded, but he acts up to what he beliefs !” A different characteristic marie the parson a hero in the eyes of another admirer. Two Devonshire laborers were discussing the respective merits of their “pass’ns” over a mug of cider. After much debate one had triumphantly convinced the other of the superior preaching capacity of his own vicar. The reply showed, at least loyalty. “You’m right, Jargo ! Pass'll bain’t no pracher, not ta speak of, but a bo a praper gudo judge o’ t> pig.”—London Mail.”