The purchase of the land adjoining the churchyard had a remarkable sequel; it was conveyed to the Vicar and churchwardens for the time being, these original churchwardens having been long out of the office before my appointment.  After the restoration of the church my co-warden and I, with the Vicar’s consent, levelled the rough places in the neglected churchyard, sowed it with grass seeds, and planted various ornamental shrubs; we had the untidy southern boundary carefully dug over, and set a man to plant a yew-hedge.  He was thus employed when a parishioner appeared in some excitement, and objected to the planting of yew on account of possible damage to sheep grazing in the churchyard, claiming the right—­which, as a matter of fact, belonged to the Vicar alone, though never exercised—­to such grazing, jointly with the Vicar.  He proceeded to pull up some of the young yews as a protest, and threw them uprooted on the ground.  The man employed reported the matter to my co-warden, living near, who was very soon at my house.

We decided to prosecute the offender, and obtained the Vicar’s consent, he being the legal prosecutor.  The case was heard by a bench of magistrates composed entirely of clergy and churchwarden squires, who naturally sympathized with us, and, quite logically, convicted the defendant in a fine, I think, of about 25s. and costs, or a term in Worcester Gaol in default.  The defendant refused to pay a farthing and was removed in custody; but later our dear old Vicar, very generously, came forward and paid the amount himself.

Shortly before the church restoration I had a notice to attend an archidiaconal visitation, and duly appeared at the church at the time arranged.  The Archdeacon made a careful inspection of the fabric and property of the church, not too well pleased with its dilapidated appearance.  Nothing much was said till we reached the fourteenth-century font, showing signs of long use.  The Archdeacon motioned to the clerk to remove the oak cover, and the old man, with the air of an officious waiter, lifted it with a flourish, disclosing, inside the cracked font, a white pudding-basin, inside which, again, reposed a species of beetle known as a “devil’s coach-horse.”  The Archdeacon, peering in and evidently recognizing the insect and its popular designation, and looking much shocked, exclaimed with some warmth:  “Dear me!  I should scarcely have expected to find that thing in a font!”

This story reminds me of a similar visitation depicted in Punch.  The Archdeacon was seen at the lych-gate of a country church in company with a churchwarden farmer, the Vicar being unable to attend.  The contrast was well delineated—­the Archdeacon tall, thin, and ascetic, in a long black coat and archidiaconal hat; and the farmer of the John Bull type, in ample breeches and gaiters.  The churchyard presented a magnificent crop of exuberant wheat: 

Archdeacon.  I don’t like this at all; I shall really have to speak to the Vicar about it.