the clerk to spell it.  He did:  A-C-T-S.  So Acts was the babe, and will be while in this life, and will be doubly, trebly so registered if ever he marries or dies.  Afterwards, in the vestry, I asked the good woman what made her choose such a name.  Her answer verbatim:  ’Why, sir, we be religious people; we’ve got your on ’em already, and they be caal’d Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, and so my husband thought we’d compliment the apostles a bit.’”

Mr. Legge adds the following stories: 

My first curacy was in Norfolk in the year 1858, a period when the old style of parish clerk had not disappeared.  On one occasion I was asked by a friend in a neighbouring parish to take a funeral service for him.  On arriving at the church I was received by a very eccentric clerk.  It seemed as if his legs were hung upon wires, and before the service began he danced about the church in a most peculiar and laughable manner, and in addition to this he had a hideous squint, one eye looking north and the other south.  The service proceeded with due decorum until we arrived at the grave, when those who were preparing to lower the coffin in it discovered that it had not been dug large enough to receive it.  This of course created a very awkward pause while it was made larger, and the chief mourner utilised it by gently remonstrating with the clerk for his carelessness.  In reply he gave a solemn shake of his head, cast one eye into the grave and the other at the chief mourner, and merely remarked, “Putty (pretty) nigh though,” meaning that the offence after all was not so very great, as he had almost accomplished his task.  Obliged to keep my countenance, I had, as may be imagined, some difficulty.

A very amusing incident once took place when I had a couple before me to be married.  All went well until I asked the question, “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?” when an individual stepped forward, and snatching the ring out of the bride-groom’s hand, began placing it on a finger of the bride.  As all was confusion I signed to the old clerk to put matters straight.  Attired in a brown coat and leather gaiters, with spectacles on his nose, and a large Prayer Book in his hands, he came shuffling forward from the background, exclaiming out loud, “Bless me, bless me! never knew such a thing happen afore in all my life!” The service was completed without any further interruption, but again I had a sore difficulty in keeping my countenance.

Many years ago ecclesiastical matters in Norfolk were in a very slack state—­rectors and vicars lived away from their parishes, subscribing amongst them to pay the salary of a curate to undertake the church services.  As his duties were consequently manifold some parishes were without his presence on Sunday for a month and sometimes longer.  The parish clerk would stand outside the church and watch for the coming parson, and if he saw him in the distance would immediately begin to toll the bell; if not, the parish was without a service on that day.