bawlin'!"

Among various special weekday services I remember a Confirmation when
an elderly Aldington parishioner had courageously decided to
participate in the rite. She was missing from the ceremony, and told
my wife afterwards, in answer to inquiries, that a bad headache had
prevented her from attending, adding: "But there, you can't stand agin
your 'ead!"

I was at the house of a neighbouring Vicar where the Bishop of the
diocese had been lunching shortly before, when there was a dish of
very fine oranges on the table and another of Blenheim orange apples.
The Bishop was offered a Blenheim orange by the Vicar, who remarked
that they came from his own garden. The Bishop had probably never
heard of a Blenheim orange, and the latter word directed his attention
to the dish of oranges. He examined them with great surprise, and
exclaimed: "Dear me! I had no idea that oranges would come to such
perfection out of doors in this climate."

A capital story was told by a Bishop of Worcester, in connection with
the efforts of the Church in that part of the country to alleviate the
lot of the hop-pickers, who flock into Worcestershire in September by
the thousand. One of the mission workers, who had gone down to the
hopyards, met a dilapidated individual in a country lane, who said he
was "a picker." Pressed for further particulars, the man responded:

"In the summer I picks peas and fruit; when autumn comes I
picks hops; in the winter I picks pockets; and when I'm
caught I picks oakum. I'm kept nice and warm during the cold
months, and when the fine days come round once more I starts