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in the parish, while the crabbed original is conveyed to the Record
Office in London. Thus the local antiquary would really have his work
made more easy for him (though it may be doubted whether he would

quite enjoy that condescension), while the villain of romance would be
foiled; for it is useless (as a novel of Mr. Christie Murray's proves) to
alter the register in the keeping of the parish when the original
document is safe in the Record Office. But previous examples of
enforced transcription (as in 1603) do not encourage us to suppose that
the copies would be very scrupulously made. Thus, after the
Reformation, the prayers for the dead in the old registers were omitted
by the copyist, who seemed to think (as the contractor for "sandwich
men" said to the poor fellows who carried the letter H), "I don't want
you, and the public don't want you, and you're no use to nobody."
Again, when Laurence Fletcher was buried in St. Saviour's, Southwark,
in 1608, the old register described him as "a player, the King's servant."
But the clerk, keeping a note-book, simply called Laurence Fletcher "a
man," and (in 1625) he also styled Mr. John Fletcher "a man." Now, the
old register calls Mr. John Fletcher "a poet." To copy all the parish
registers in England would be a very serious task, and would probably
be but slovenly performed. If they were reproduced, again, by any
process of photography, the old difficult court hand would remain as
hard as ever. But this is a minor objection, for the local antiquary revels
in the old court hand.
From the little volume by Mr. Chester Waters, already referred to
('Parish Registers in England;' printed for the author by F. J. Roberts,
Little Britain, E.C.), we proceed to appropriate such matters of
curiosity as may interest minds neither parochial nor doggedly
antiquarian. Parish registers among the civilised peoples of antiquity do
not greatly concern us. It seems certain that many Polynesian races
have managed to record (in verse, or by some rude marks) the
genealogies of their chiefs through many hundreds of years. These oral
registers are accepted as fairly truthful by some students, yet we must
remember that Pindar supposed himself to possess knowledge of at
least twenty-five generations before his own time, and that only
brought him up to the birth of Jason. Nobody believes in Jason and
Medea, and possibly the genealogical records of Maoris and Fijians are
as little trustworthy as those of Pindaric Greece. However, to consider
thus is to consider too curiously. We only know for certain that
genealogy very soon becomes important, and, therefore, that records
are early kept, in a growing civilisation. "After Nehemiah's return from

the captivity in Babylon, the priests at Jerusalem whose register was
not found were as polluted put from the priesthood." Rome had her
parish registers, which were kept in the temple of Saturn. But modern
parish registers were "discovered" (like America) in 1497, when
Cardinal Ximenes found it desirable to put on record the names of the
godfathers and godmothers of baptised children. When these relations
of "gossip," or God's kin (as the word literally means), were not
certainly known, married persons could easily obtain divorces, by
pretending previous spiritual relationship.
But it was only during the reign of Mary, (called the Bloody) that this
rule of registering godfathers and godmothers prevailed in England.
Henry VIII. introduced the custom of parish registers when in a
Protestant humour. By the way, how curiously has Madame de
Flamareil (la femme de quarante ans, in Charles de Bernard's novel)
anticipated the verdict of Mr. Froude on Henry VIII.! 'On accuse Henri
VIII.,' dit Madame de Flamareil, "moi je le comprends, et je l'absous;
c'etait un coeur genereux, lorsqu'il ne les aimait plus, il les tuait.'" The
public of England mistrusted, in the matter of parish registers, the
generous heart of Henry VIII. It is the fixed conviction of the public
that all novelties in administration mean new taxes. Thus the Croatian
peasantry were once on the point of revolting because they imagined
that they were to be taxed in proportion to the length of their
moustaches. The English believed, and the insurgents of the famous
Pilgrimage of Grace declared, that baptism was to be refused to all
children who did not pay a "trybette" (tribute) to the king. But Henry,
or rather his minister, Cromwell, stuck to his plan, and (September 29,
1538) issued an injunction that a weekly register of weddings,
christenings, and burials should be kept by the curate of every parish.
The cost of the book (twopence in the case of St. Margaret's,
Westminster) was defrayed by the parishioners. The oldest extant
register books are those thus acquired in 1597 or 1603. These volumes
were