THE LAMENT OF A PARISH CLERK.

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume IV, Issue 35, 12 February 1869, Page 3

THE LAMENT OF A PARISH CLERK.

'Our parson's took up wiih the'Ritchelist views, And he's all over changed from his hat to his shoes, His coat is so long, and his face is so-grave, And he calls his good crabstick a pastoral stave, -And his voice has got hollow, and sadlike, and mild, -And he'd think he was yielding to sin if he smiled, They may say what-they like, but whatever they says •I don't like the looks of them Ritchelist ways. The old village church too be done quite up new, And there's plenty of benches but never a pew, And pillards, and haltars, and things queer in spelling, -And as to the vestry that's quite past my telling; There used to be two gowns I had in my cares, -A black gown for preaching, and a white an for prayers, -But now there are twenty with gold all ablaze, And'that's the expense of them Ritchelist ways. ' There's tippets and stoles that is always in wear, - And copes to put on at the Litany prayer, •And green andwhite edgings for churching—and listen ! He puts on a purple and white go wx\ to christen. 'There's things that hang loose, and things that fit tight, And he's mighty displeased if I don't bring 'em right. 'Oh! it's almost enough a poor body to craze, The ins and the OUts of them Ritchelist ways. Then there's bowings and scrapings, and turnings and flections, 'It's hard work to mind all the proper directions, 'He'll first chant a sentence, then turn round his stole, Then wheel to the east with a sort c f a roll; -Now he reads low, now loud, now he jabbers bo fast, -As if it was something he wished to get past; At the back of the building you can't hear a phrase, _ 'For they don't Speak distinct'in them Ritchelist ways. And there's candles a burning by night and by day, • Just placed on the altar amidst flowers so gay ; The flowers, they're lovely, but I think they look best In some lady's parlor or greenhouse to rest; •And there's stuff they call incense they're whisking about Which smells like burnt lavender, I have no doubt; 'Its enough to incense me the rest of my days, The sight and the smell of them Ritohelist Trays! I've been parish clerk for this nigh thirty-year, "But the parson and wardens is getting so queer, And the work of my office is getting so great, What with brushing the vestments and cleaning the plate, That I'd almost resolved to resignit and go, But my friends they say 'don't,' and my wife she says' No,' So I bide in my p_ce, and each Sunday I prays ' There may soon be an end of them Richelist Ways. ' ' _a