His house was known as "Heaven's Gate," where
the farmers from the neighbouring farms used to drink and stay a week at
a time. Jerry used to direct the funerals, make the clerkly responses,
and then provide the funeral party with good cheer at his inn. His
invitation was always given at the graveside in a high-pitched falsetto
voice, and the formula ran in these words, and was never varied:
"Friends of the corpse is respectfully requested to call at my house,
and partake then and there of such refreshments as is provided
for them."
[Footnote 83: By the kindness of the editor of _Chambers's Journal_ I am
permitted to retell some of the stories of the manners of these clerks
and parsons.]
Much intemperance and disorder often followed these funeral feastings.
An old song long preserved in the district depicts one of these
funerals, which was by no means a one-day affair, but sometimes lasted
several days, during which the drinking went on. The inn was perhaps a
necessity in this out-of-the-world place, but it was unfortunately a
great temptation to the inhabitants, and to the old Northern Light
parson who preceded the vicar whose reminiscences we are recording. Here
in the inn the old parson sat between morning and afternoon service with
a long clay pipe in his mouth and a glass of whisky by his side.
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