rousing cheer went up as the last block of brickwork was rolled aside, and then there staggered from the tunnel four score of men, grim and pallid, and gasping in the pure air of the afternoon. There was nothing for it now but to bring out the trains, which was done accordingly.

'Whom do they belong to ?' asked the German leader.

The problem is not yet solved, Colonel,' responded the French commander. Let them form part of the stake we were playing for when we were so strangely interrupted two hours ago.'

MORE HUMOURS OF CLERICAL LIFE.

6

6

DESPITE the modern tendency to minimise the sermon in many of our churches, the poor at least still look upon the discourse' as the main object of coming to church. Indeed, the expression ‘sitting under' Mr. So-and-so is still in vogue in many of our country towns, and there are always a certain number to be found who pass from church to chapel or chapel to church in strict accordance with their preference for Mr. Smith or Mr. Brown as a preacher. As a matter of fact, doctrinal differences do not enter much into their consideration. There is a good deal of truth, by the way, in the story of the Wesleyan old lady who rather damped her vicar's pleasure at seeing her so often in church by replying, 'Well, you see, sir, you've been and asphalted the path up to church, and I find it a deal drier of a winter's day than that yellow gravel our minister 'as up to 'is chapel.' But to return to the question of sermons. One hears the very quaintest comments made upon the last Sunday's sermon. I took occasion once, in speaking of humility, to dwell on the light which Christianity throws upon pride. A few days afterwards one of the congregation whom I happened to be visiting was very anxious that I should tell his invalid wife, who was unable to come to church, as much as I could of my sermon. 'I thinks,' he said, ' as 'ow it'll cheer 'er up a bit, she does get so low-spirited a' times. And lor', I was properly 'mused last Sunday night, I was, at your discourse. Aye' (gleefully rubbing his hands), 'ye did give it 'em. I thought to mysen all the time somebody 'as been a saying some'at or doing of some'at to 'e, and now ’e's a taking it out of 'em properly. I tell ye, I was real pleased, I was.' He finished his remarks with the greatest compliment he could think of—'I tell ye I was so interested loike that when you ’ad finished I thought you ’adn't done.' Indeed, my friend had thoroughly enjoyed what he looked upon as a good 'wigging' for his well-to-do neighbours, but had carefully abstained from taking any of it home to himself; still less had he dreamed of the possibility of the preacher preaching to himself.

I remember once a friend of mine, who was about to give up his curacy, preaching two sermons, in which he happened to speak

fairly plainly on one or two particular failings in the congregation. The said congregation, however, rather took exception to this, and declared that the vicar, who was afraid, they said, to speak like that himself, had made his curate preach on these subjects because he was going away, and therefore it did not matter what he said.

Sometimes, however, the cap fits. I once happened to preach the same sermon twice in different churches in the same town. The subject was scandal. One parishioner, who was present on both occasions, was very indignant: I calls it too bad,' she said to a neighbour; "'e must 'ave a spite agin me, and 'ow does 'e know what I says to my neighbours; besides, what 'arm is it if I do like a bit of gossip now and agin?'

Probably, if a volume of 'first sermons' were to be published, it would contain some strange matter, and have perhaps a larger sale than most books of that nature. One such sermon I heard of as having been preached not long ago. The preacher had been ordained at the Advent Ordination, and was called upon to preach his first sermon on St. Stephen's day. He naturally enough chose the history of the first martyrdom as his subject, and in particular St. Stephen's prayer for his murderers. But the lesson he evolved from it all was certainly peculiar. Brethren,' he said, 'this prayer of St. Stephen, alike the first deacon and the first martyr, emphasises thus early in the history of the Church the difference between the priest and, such as I am, the deacon. For St. Stephen prayed for his murderers; he was only a deacon; had he been a priest he would have absolved them.' No one but a man writing his first sermon would ever have thought of such an application.

The commendation which one sometimes receives at the hands of parishioners is often very quaintly expressed. I remember once being locum tenens during my holidays in a small country parish in the West Country. After Evensong on my last Sunday in the parish, the churchwarden, who was a bricklayer, was evidently desirous of paying me a compliment on my departure. 'Well, sir,' he said, 'we are real sorry you're going, and us shall tell the vicar as 'ow you've gived every satisfaction.' I shall certainly apply to my churchwarden friend if ever I have to look out for a fresh 'situation.'

On leaving one such situation,' on receipt of my first piece of preferment, I obtained another glimpse of the view taken of us. A few days after my approaching departure became known I hap

pened to go into a barber's shop in the town to get a shave. The barber, who was more or less of a Churchman, was always very loquacious and was an adept at suiting his conversation to the man upon whom he happened to be operating. He generally seized the opportunity offered by one's helpless position to monotone long extracts from the late Mr. Spurgeon's sermons, excellent no doubt in themselves, but irritating to listen to while one's chin was being duly scraped. He, by the way, paid me a great compliment once. 'That was something like a sermon you gave us last Sunday night,' he said; 'I have not often read better even in the "Christian Herald." However, on this occasion he was full of my leaving the parish. In answer to his kind expressions of regret, I murmured through my teeth (in deadly fear of being sliced by my friend's razor) that I also in many ways regretted leaving. 'Well,' he said, 'I always says to my young men, if you get a chance of bettering of yourselves, never you mind leaving me and going to another shop.' It seemed to throw quite a new and refreshing light on ecclesiastical changes.

"

There are many ways of trying to explain away an awkward thing one would rather have left unsaid, a generally unsuccessful attempt. Here is a peculiarly unhappy instance. A rector, whom I knew well, more remarkable for his ability than for any special grace of figure, gave an order for a suit of clothes to the local tailor. When the clothes arrived the coat in particular was not, to say the least of it, up to the West End' standard of excellence. Consequently, the rector made representations on the subject to the said tailor. 'You must admit the coat doesn't hang very well, does it?' 'Well, no, sir,' was the reply, that's true enough; but then you will be the first to admit that you've not got the figure of an Apollo Belvedere.' The rector felt that, though the excuse was not a powerful one, the fact upon which it was based was undeniable. Enjoying, as he always did, a good joke against himself, he was rather fond of repeating the comment on the grace or want of grace of his figure. Unfortunately, however, the story got round again to the tailor's ears, who, poor man, was much disconcerted at the thought of what he had said in the unguarded moment of self-defence. The next time he met the rector he came across the road to explain matters. I hear, sir, you were much upset at my most unfortunate comment on your figure.' The rector assured him that he had taken no offence, but looked upon it as a very good joke against himself, 'None the less,' was the

reply, 'I ought never to have made the remark; the only explanation I can give is that I must have thought I was speaking to a dissenting minister '-an amusing explanation, but rather hard on the dissenting brethren.

There are some classes of people who seem to think that when they speak to a parson they must use certain peculiar phrases wholly strange to them under ordinary circumstances, as, for instance, the famous reply of the labourer to the minister's words of praise concerning a fine fat pig which he saw in his sty, grunting with satisfaction and repletion: 'Oh, sir, if only we was all as fit to die as my old sow be!'

I once asked a district nurse how the various sick cases had been going on during my absence from the parish. At once the look which I knew so well crossed her face, but her natural professional pride strove for the mastery with the due unctuousness which she considered necessary for the occasion. At last she evolved the following strange mixture: 'Middling well, sir; some of 'em's gone straight to glory, but I am glad to say others are nicely on

the mend.'

By the way, I heard the other day an amusing corruption of a word. I was sympathising with a poor woman who had been very busy nursing her neighbours during a recent epidemic of influenza. 'Oh, I don't mind,' she replied; 'I am quite manured to it.' Indeed, this class of people is particularly fond of the use of grand language. A working man of my acquaintance, when he met me in the evening as he came home from work, would often greet me: Good night to ye, sir; 'ere's Phoebe a-cooming,' with reference not to his wife, but to the goddess of the moon.

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On another occasion a man, who belonged to a working men's club in the parish, was telling me the strange history of his life. He had been deserted by his father and mother and more or less dragged up by an old aunt who had taken him in. From the age of twelve he had had to fight his own battle, and uncom monly well he had fought it. I could see how proud he naturally enough was of his success. But in the midst of his boasting he seemed suddenly to realise that perhaps he owed something to s higher power, or, at least, he ought to say so; so he went on, You see, sir, I 'ave always 'ad to fend for mysen iver since I was a scrap of a lad:' then a pause: 'leastwise, in course wi' a bit o' 'elp from th' A'mighty.' It was certainly quaintly put, but I believe genuinely meant.