And you have given them a "power of good."
But what has all this to do with a clerk? Well, I want to tell what made
me _try_ to be a good catechist, and what makes me, over eighty-three
years of age, _still wish_ to become such, though the incident must have
happened some seventy years ago, for I recollect that on the very Sunday
we crossed the Greta my father whispered to me as we were on the bridge
that it was the poet Southey who was close to us, as he as well as our
little family and a goodly congregation were returning from Crosthwaite
Church in the afternoon. For "oncers" were unknown in those times,
neither by poets and historians like Southey, nor by travellers such as
we were. We had attended morning service. A stranger officiated. His
name was _Bush_, and this is important. A family "riddle" impressed the
name upon me. "Why were we all like Moses to-day?" "We had heard the
word out of a Bush," was the reply. But at the afternoon service I was
deeply impressed. The Rev. M. Bush having read the lessons, came out of
the prayer-desk, and to my amazement and great interest catechised the
children and others.
I thought to myself that the practice was excellent, and felt that if
ever I became a clergyman (of which honour there was very small
probability), I would obey the Prayer Book and catechise.
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