stories from the Old Testament. As he read the account of the
discomfiture of the priests of Baal by the Prophet Elijah one could
visualize the scene. Elijah's dripping sacrifice blazing to the skies,
the priests of Baal, mutilated by their own knives and lancets, in
vain imploring their god to send the fire to vindicate himself. The
heavens were black, and one could hear the rush of Ahab's chariot, the
roar of the thunder and the hissing torrent of rain, and see the
prophet running swiftly before him. The Vicar, however, was not an
actor like a clergyman I was told of, who got so excited over Agag and
his delicate approach to Samuel that he could not resist an
illustration to intensify the action by taking a mincing step or two
aside from the lectern.

No village is complete without its curmudgeon or self-appointed
grumbler, just as every village has its special imbecile. The
curmudgeon originates in a class above the idiot; very often he is an
ex-churchwarden, guardian, way-warden, or other official, who has
resigned in dudgeon or been ousted from his post for some neglect or
failure. He is a man with whom the world has gone wrong, a sufferer,
perhaps, from some disaster which has become an obsession. He views
everything with distorted eyesight; nothing pleases him, and he wants
to put everybody right. He cherishes a perpetual grievance against
some individual or clique for a fancied slight, and goes about trying
to stir up ill-feeling among the ignorant by malicious insinuations.
In former times he was an adept at "parson-baiting" at the annual
Easter vestry meeting, when he would air his grievance against the
Vicar of the parish or any person in authority.

At these vestries the Vicar is wise if he declares the curmudgeon to
be "out of order," and declines to hear him, for, legally, the