from the archdeacon of the diocese propounding such questions as, "Do
you attend church regularly? If not, why not?" etc., etc., is the
natural destiny of the churchwarden, and is more than human nature can
stand: in short, my advice to those thinking of becoming churchwardens
is, "Don't," with a very big _D_.

According to the "Diary of Master William Silence," in the olden times a
pedlar would occasionally arrive at the church door during the sermon,
and proceed to advertise his wares at the top of his voice. Whereupon
the parson, speedily deserted by the female portion of his congregation
and by not a few of the other sex, was obliged to bring his discourse to
a somewhat inglorious conclusion.

We learn from the same work that the churchwardens were in the habit of
disbursing large sums for the destruction of foxes. When a fox was
marked to ground the church bell was rung as a signal, summoning every
man who owned a pickaxe, a gun, or a terrier dog, to lend a hand in
destroying him. We are talking of two or three hundred years ago, when
the stag was the animal usually hunted by hounds on the Cotswolds and in
other parts of England.

Our village is a favourite meet of the V.W.H. foxhounds. An amusing
story is told of a former tenant of the court house--a London gentleman,
who rented the place for a time. He is reported to have made a special
request to the master of the hounds, that when the meet was held at "the
Court," "his lordship" would make the fox pass in front of the
drawing-room windows, "For," said he, "I have several friends coming
from London to see the hunt."

In a hunting district such as this the owners and occupiers of the