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The Rev. William Selwyn recollects the following incidents in the parish
of F-----, near Cambridge: 

Here up to the end of the sixties and well into the seventies a most quaint service was in fashion.  The morning service began with a metrical Psalm—­Tate and Brady—­led by the clerk (of these more hereafter).  This being ended, the vicar commenced the service always with the sentence “O Lord, correct me”—­never any other.  Then all things went on in the regular course till the end of the Litany, when the clerk would be heard stamping down the church and ascending the gallery in order to be ready for the second metrical Psalm.  That ended, the vicar would commence with the ante-Communion service from the reading-desk.  This went on in due course till the end of the Nicene Creed, when without sermon, prayers, or blessing, the morning service came to an abrupt termination.  The afternoon service was identical, save that it ended with a sermon and the blessing.

But the chief peculiarity was the clerk and the singing.  The metrical Psalm chosen was invariably one for the day of the month whatever it might be.  The clerk would give it out, “Let’s sing to the praise and glory of God,” and then would read the first two lines.  The usual village band—­fiddle, trombone, etc. etc.—­would accompany him, which thing done, the next two lines would follow, and so on.  Usually the number of verses was four, but sometimes the clerk would go on to six, or even seven.  Once, I remember, this led to a somewhat ludicrous result.  It was the seventh day of the month, consequently the thirty-fifth was the metrical Psalm to be sung.  I think my late revered relative, Canon Selwyn, learnt then with astonishment, as I did myself, of the existence of the following lines within the folds of the Prayer Book: 

     “And when through dark and slippery ways
       They strive His rage to shun,
     His vengeful ministers of wrath
       Shall goad them as they run.”

It is hard to think that such a service could have been possible within seven miles of a University town, and I need hardly say it was very trying to the younger ones.

In the afternoon the band migrated to the dissenting chapel.  On one occasion the band failed to appear, and the clerk was left alone.  However, he made the best of it, with scant support from the congregation, so turning to them at the end, said in a loud voice, “Thank you for your help!”

THE PARISH OF BROMFIELD, SALOP.

From these ludicrous scenes it is refreshing to turn to a service which, though primitive, was conducted with the utmost reverence and decency.  When I was instituted in 1866 all the singing was conducted, and most reverently conducted, under the auspices of the clerk.  He was a handsome man, with a flowing beard, magnificent bass voice, and a wooden leg.  With two or three sons, daughters, and others in the