There was no high standard of clerical life prevalent, but what standard there was was not lived up to. These parsonic sportsmen were as profoundly ignorant of the doctrines of the Faith they were commissioned to teach, as any child in a low form in a National School. As was sung of one—typical—
This parson little loveth prayer
And Pater night and morn, Sir!
For bell and book hath little care,
But dearly loves the horn, Sir!
Sing tally-ho! sing tally-ho!
Sing tally-ho! Why, Zounds, Sir!
I mounts my mare to hunt the hare!
Sing tally-ho! the hounds, Sir!
In pulpit Parson Hogg was strong,
He preached without a book, Sir!
And to the point, but never long,
And this the text he took, Sir!
O tally-ho! O tally-ho!
Dearly Beloved—Zounds, Sir!
I mounts my mare to hunt the hare!
Sing tally-ho! the hounds, Sir!
There is but one patch of false colour in this song, that which represents the hunting parson as strong in the pulpit.
Society—hunting society especially—in North Devon was coarse to an exceptional degree. One who knew it intimately wrote to me: "It was a strange ungodly company, parsons included, and that not so very long ago. North Devon society in Jack Russell's day was peculiar—so peculiar that no one now would believe readily that half a century ago such life could be—but I was in the thick of it. It was not creditable to any one, but it was so general that the rascality of it was mitigated by consent."
The hunting parson was, as said, not strong in the pulpit except in voice. But Jack Russell, of Swymbridge, was an exception.
