out, 'My brethren, let me entreat you to stay for five words more'; and
marching out of the pulpit, till he had got pretty near the door of the
church, slowly pronounced, 'Let us all start fair,' and ran off with the
rest of them."

An old parishioner of the famous Rev. R. S. Hawker once told him of a
very successful run of a cargo of kegs, which the obliging parish clerk
allowed the smugglers to place underneath the benches and in the tower
stairs of the church. The old man told the story thus:

"We bribed Tom Hockaday, the sexton, and we had the goods
safe in the seats by Saturday night. The parson did wonder at
the large congregation, for divers of them were not regular
churchgoers at other times; and if he had known what was
going on, he could not have preached a more suitable
discourse, for it was, 'Be not drunk with wine, wherein is
excess.' It was one of his best sermons; but, there, it did
not touch us, you see; for we never tasted anything but
brandy and gin."

In such smuggling ways the clerk was no worse than his neighbours, who
were all more or less involved in the illicit trade.

The old Cornish clerks who used to help the smugglers were a curious
race of beings, remarkable for their familiar ways with the parson. At
St. Clements the clergyman one day was reading the verse, "I have seen
the ungodly flourish like a _green bay_ tree," when the clerk looked up
with an inquiring glance from the desk below, "How can that be,
maister?" He was more familiar with the colour of a bay horse than the
tints of a bay tree.