The great Watch-Coat was purchased and given above two hundred years
ago, by the Lord of the Manor, to this Parish-Church, to the sole use
and Behoof of the poor sextons thereof, and their Sucessors, for ever,
to be Worn by them respectively in wintery cold Nights, in ringing
Complines, Passing-Bells, &c. which the said Lord of the manor had
done, in Piety, to keep the poor Wretches warm, and for the Good of his
own Soul, for Which they were directed to pray, &c. &c. &c. &c. _Just
Heaven!_ said the Parson to himself, looking upwards, _What an Escape
have I had! Give this for an Under-Petticoat to Trim’s Wife! I would
not have consented to such a Desecration to be Primate of all England;
nay, I would not have disturb’d a single Button of it for half my
Tythes!_
Scarce were the Words out of his Mouth, when in pops _Trim_ with the
whole Subject of the Exclamation under both his Arms.—I say, under both
his Arms;—for he had actually got it ripp’d and cut out ready, his own
Jerkin under one Arm, and the Petticoat under the other, in order to be
carried to the Taylor to be made up,—and had just stepp’d in, in high
Spirits, to shew the Parson how cleverly it had held out.
There are many good Similies now subsisting in the World, but which I
have neither Time to recollect or look for, which would give you a
strong Conception of the Astonishment and honest Indignation which this
unexpected Stroke of _Trim_’s Impudence impress’d upon the Parson’s
Looks.—Let it suffice to say, That it exceeded all fair Description,—as
well as all Power of proper Resentment,—except this, that _Trim_ was
ordered, in a stern Voice, to lay the Bundles down upon the Table,—to
go about his Business, and wait upon him, at his Peril, the next
Morning at Eleven precisely,:—Against this Hour, like a wise Man, the
Parson had sent to desire _John_ the Parish-Clerk, who bore an
exceeding good Character as a Man of Truth, and who having, moreover, a
pretty Freehold of about eighteen Pounds a Year in the Township, was a
leading Man in it; and, upon the whole, was such a one of whom it might
be said,—That he rather did Honour to his Office,—than that his Office
did Honour to him.—Him he sends for, with the Church-Wardens, and one
of the Sides-Men, a grave, knowing, old Man, to be present:—For as
_Trim_ had withheld the whole Truth from the Parson, touching the
Watch-Coat, he thought it probable he would as certainly do the same
Thing to others; though this, I said, was wise, the Trouble of the
Precaution might have been spared, —because the Parson’s Character was
unblemish’d,—and he had ever been held by the World in the Estimation
of a Man of Honour and Integrity.—_Trim_’s Character, on the contrary,
was as well known, if not in the World, yet, at least, in all the
Parish, to be that of a little, dirty, pimping, pettifogging,
ambidextrous Fellow,—who neither cared what he did or said of any,
provided he could get a Penny by it.—This might, I say, have made any
Precaution needless;—but you must know, as the Parson had in a Manner
but just got down to his Living, he dreaded the Consequences of the
least ill Impression on his first Entrance amongst his Parishioners,
which would have disabled him from doing them the Good he Wished;—so
that, out of Regard to his Flock, more than the necessary Care due to
himself,—he was resolv’d not to lie at the Mercy of what Resentment
might vent, or Malice lend an Ear to.—Accordingly the whole Matter was
rehearsed from first to last by the Parson, in the Manner I’ve told
you, in the Hearing of _John_ the Parish-Clerk, and in the Presence of
_Trim_.
_Trim_ had little to say for himself, except “That the Parson had
absolutely promised to befriend him and his Wife in the Affair, to the
utmost of his Power: That the Watch-Coat was certainly in his Power,
and that he might give it him if he pleased.”
To this, the Parson’s Reply was short, but strong, “That nothing was in
his Power to do, but what he could do _honestly:_—That in giving the
Coat to him and his Wife, he should do a manifest Wrong to the next
Sexton; the great Watch-Coat being the most comfortable Part of the
Place:—That he should, moreover, injure the Right of his own Successor,
who would be just so much a worse Patron, as the Worth of the Coat
amounted to;—and, in a Word, he declared, that his whole intent in
promising that Coat, was Charity to _Trim;_ but _Wrong_ to no Man; that
was a Reserve, he said, made in all Cases of this Kind:—and he declared
solemnly, _in Verbo Sacerdotis_, That this was his Meaning, and was so
understood by _Trim_ himself.”
With the Weight of this Truth, and the great good Sense and strong
Reason which accompanied all the Parson said upon the Subject,—poor
_Trim_ was driven to his last Shift,—and begg’d he might be suffered to
plead his Right and Title to the Watch-Coat, if not by _Promise_, at
least by _Services_.—It was well known how much he was entitled to it
upon these Scores: That he had black’d the Parson’s Shoes without
Count, and greased his Boots above fifty Times:—That he had run for
Eggs into the Town upon all Occasions;—whetted the Knives at all
Hours;—catched his Horse and rubbed him down:—That for his Wife she had
been ready upon all Occasions to charr for them;—and neither he nor
she, to the best of his Remembrance, ever took a Farthing, or any thing
beyond a Mug of Ale.—To this Account of his Services he begg’d Leave to
add those of his Wishes, which, he said, had been equally great.—He
affirmed, and was ready, he said, to make it appear, by Numbers of
Witnesses, “He had drank his Reverence’s Health a thousand Times, (by
the bye, he did not add out of the Parson’s own Ale): That he not only
drank his Health, but wish’d it; and never came to the House, but ask’d
his Man kindly how he did; that in particular, about half a Year ago,
when his Reverence cut his Finger in paring an Apple, he went half a
Mile to ask a cunning Woman, what was good to stanch Blood, and
actually returned with a Cobweb in his Breeches Pocket:—Nay, says
_Trim_, it was not a Fortnight ago, when your Reverence took that
violent Purge, that I went to the far End of the whole Town to borrow
you a Close-stool,—and came back, as my Neighbours, who flouted me,
will all bear witness, with the Pan upon my Head, and never thought it
too much.”
_Trim_ concluded his pathetick Remonstrance with saying, “He hoped his
Reverence’s Heart would not suffer him to requite so many faithful
Services by so unkind a Return:—That if it was so, as he was the first,
so he hoped he should be the last, Example of a Man of his Condition so
treated.”—This Plan of _Trim_’s Defence, which _Trim_ had put himself
upon,—could admit of no other Reply but a general Smile.
Upon the whole, let me inform you, That all that could be said, _pro_
and _con_, on both Sides, being fairly heard, it was plain, That
_Trim_, in every Part of this Affair, had behaved very ill;—and _one_
Thing, which was never expected to be known of him, happening in the
Course of this Debate to come out against him; namely, That he had gone
and told the Parson, before he had ever set Foot in his Parish, That
_John_ his Parish-Clerk,—his Church-Wardens, and some of the Heads of
the Parish, were a Parcel of Scoundrels.—Upon the Upshot, _Trim_ was
kick’d out of Doors; and told, at his Peril, never to come there again.
At first _Trim_ huff’d and bounced most terribly;—swore he would get a
Warrant;—then nothing would serve him but he would call a Bye-Law, and
tell the whole Parish how the Parson had misused him;—but cooling of
that, as fearing the Parson might possibly bind him over to his good
Behaviour, and, for aught he knew, might send him to the House of
Correction,—he let the Parson alone; and, to revenge himself, falls
foul upon his Clerk, who had no more to do in the Quarrel than you or
I;—rips up the Promise of the old-cast-Pair-of-black-Plush-Breeches,
and raises an Uproar in the Town about it, notwithstanding it had slept
ten Years.—But all this, you must know, is look’d upon in no other
Light, but as an artful Stroke of Generalship in _Trim_, to raise a
Dust, and cover himself under the disgraceful Chastisement he has
undergone.
If your Curiosity is not yet satisfied,—I will now proceed to relate
the _Battle_ of the Breeches, in the same exact Manner I have done
_that_ of the Watch-Coat.
Be it known then, that, about ten Years ago, when _John_ was appointed
Parish-Clerk of this Church, this said Master _Trim_ took no small
Pains to get into _John_’s good Graces in order, as it afterwards
appeared, to coax a Promise out of him of a Pair of Breeches, which
_John_ had then by him, of black Plush, not much the worse for
wearing;—_Trim_ only begging for God’s Sake to have them bestowed upon
him when _John_ should think fit to cast them.
_Trim_ was one of those kind of Men who loved a Bit of Finery in his
Heart, and would rather have a tatter’d Rag of a Better Body’s, than
the best plain whole Thing his Wife could spin him.
_John_, who was naturally unsuspicious, made no more Difficulty of
promising the Breeches, than the Parson had done in promising the Great
Coat; and, indeed, with something less Reserve,—because the Breeches
were _John’s own_, and he could give them, without Wrong, to whom he
thought fit.
It happened, I was going to say unluckily, but, I should rather say,
most luckily, for _Trim_, for he was the only Gainer by it;—that a
Quarrel, about some six or eight Weeks after this, broke out between
_the late_ Parson of the Parish and _John_ the Clerk. Somebody (and it
was thought to be Nobody but _Trim_) had put it into the Parson’s Head,
“That _John_’s Desk in the Church was, at the least, four Inches higher
than it should be:—That the Thing gave Offence, and was indecorous,
inasmuch as it approach’d too near upon a Level with the Parson’s Desk
itself.” This Hardship the Parson complained of loudly,—and told _John_
one Day after Prayers, “He could bear it no longer:—And would have it
alter’d and brought down as it should be.” _John_ made no other Reply,
but, “That the Desk was not of his raising:—That ’twas not one Hair
Breadth higher than he found it;—and that as he found it, so would he
leave it:—In short, he would neither make an Encroachment, nor would he
suffer one.”
The _late_ Parson might have his Virtues, but the leading Part of his
Character was not _Humility;_ so that _John_’s Stiffness in this Point
was not likely to reconcile Matters.—This was _Trim_’s Harvest.
After a friendly Hint to _John_ to stand his Ground,—away hies _Trim_
to make his Market at the Vicarage: What pass’d there, I will not say,
intending not to be uncharitable; so shall content myself with only
guessing at it, from the sudden Change that appeared in _Trim_’s Dress
for the better;—for he had left his old ragged Coat, Hat and Wig, in
the Stable, and was come forth strutting across the Church-yard, y’clad
in a good creditable cast Coat, large Hat and Wig, which the Parson had
just given him.—Ho! Ho! Hollo! _John!_ cries _Trim_, in an insolent
Bravo, as loud as ever he could bawl—See here, my Lad! how fine I
am.—The more Shame for you, answered _John_, seriously.—Do you think,
_Trim_, says he, such Finery, gain’d by such Services, becomes you, or
can wear well?—Fye upon it, _Trim;_—I could not have expected this from
you, considering what Friendship you pretended, and how kind I have
ever been to you:—How many Shillings and Sixpences I have generously
lent you in your Distresses?—Nay, it was but t’other Day that I
promised you these black Plush Breeches I have on.—Rot your Breeches,
quoth _Trim;_ for _Trim_’s Brain was half turn’d with his new
Finery:—Rot your Breeches, says he, —I would not take them up, were
they laid at my Door;—give ’em, and be d——d to you, to whom you like; I
would have you to know I can have a better Pair at the Parson’s any Day
in the Week:—_John_ told him plainly, as his Word had once pass’d him,
he had a Spirit above taking Advantage of his Insolence, in giving them
away to another:—But, to tell him his Mind freely, he thought he had
got so many Favours of that Kind, and was so likely to get many more
for the same Services, of the Parson, that he had better give up the
Breeches, with good Nature, to some one who would be more thankful for
them.
Here _John_ mentioned _Mark Slender_, (who, it seems, the Day before,
had ask’d _John_ for ’em) not knowing they were under Promise to
_Trim_.—“Come, _Trim_, says he, let poor _Mark_ have ’em,—You know he
has not a Pair to his. A——: Besides, you see he is just of my Size, and
they will fit him to a T; whereas, if I give ’em to you,—look ye, they
are not worth much; and, besides, you could not get your Backside into
them, if you had them, without tearing them all to Pieces.”
Every Tittle of this was most undoubtedly true; for _Trim_, you must
know, by foul Feeding, and playing the good Fellow at the Parson’s, was
grown somewhat gross about the lower Parts, _if not higher:_ So that,
as all _John_ said upon the Occasion was fact, _Trim_, with much ado,
and after a hundred Hum’s and Hah’s, at last, out of mere Compassion to
Mark, _signs, seals, and delivers up_ all Right, Interest, and
Pretentions whatsoever, in and to the said breeches; thereby binding
his Heirs, Executors, Administrators, and Assignes, never more to call
the said Claim in Question.
All this Renunciation was set forth in an ample Manner, to be in pure
Pity to _Mark_’s Nakedness;—but the Secret was, _Trim_ had an Eye to,
and firmly expected in his own Mind, the great Green Pulpit-Cloth and
old Velvet Cushion, which were that very Year to be taken down;—which,
by the Bye, could he have wheedled _John_ a second Time out of ’em, as
he hoped, he had made up the Loss of his Breeches Seven-fold.
Now, you must know, this Pulpit-Cloth and Cushion were not in _John_’s
Gift, but in the Church-Wardens, _&c._—However, as I said above, that
_John_ was a leading Man in the Parish, _Trim_ knew he could help him
to them if he would:—But _John_ had got a Surfeit of him;—so, when the
Pulpit-Cloth, &c. were taken down, they were immediately given (_John_
having a great Say in it) to _William Doe_, who understood very well
what Use to make of them.
As for the old Breeches, poor _Mark Slender_ lived to wear them but a
short Time, and they got into the Possession of _Lorry Slim_, an
unlucky Wight, by whom they are still worn;—in Truth, as you will
guess, they are very thin by this Time:—But _Lorry_ has a light Heart;
and what recommends them to him, is this, that, as, thin as they are,
he knows that Trim, let him say what he will to the contrary, still
envies the _Possessor_ of them,—and, with all his Pride, would be very
glad to wear them after _him_.
Upon this Footing have these Affairs slept quietly for near ten
Years,—and would have slept for ever, but for the unlucky Kicking-Bout;
which, as I said, has ripp’d this Squabble up afresh: So that it was no
longer ago than last Week, that _Trim_ met and insulted _John_ in the
public Town- Way, before a hundred People;—tax’d him with the Promise
of the old-cast-Pair-of-black-Breeches, notwithstanding _Trim_’s solemn
Renunciation; twitted him with the Pulpit-Cloth and Velvet Cushion,—as
good as told him, he was ignorant of the common Duties of his
Clerkship; adding, very insolently, That he knew not so much as to give
out a common Psalm in Tune.—
_John_ contented himself with giving a plain Answer to every Article
that _Trim_ had laid to his Charge, and appealed to his Neighbours who
remembered the whole Affair;—and as he knew there was never any Thing
to be got in wrestling with a Chimney-Sweeper,—he was going to take
Leave of _Trim_ for ever.—But, hold,—the Mob by this Time had got round
them, and their High Mightinesses insisted upon having _Trim_ tried
upon the Spot.—_Trim_ was accordingly tried; and, after a full Hearing,
was convicted a second Time, and handled more roughly by one or more of
them, than even at the Parson’s.
_Trim_, says one, are you not ashamed of yourself, to make all this
Rout and Disturbance in the Town, and set Neighbours together by the
Ears, about an old-worn-out-Pair-of-cast-Breeches, not worth Half a
Crown?—Is there a cast-Coat, or a Place in the whole Town, that will
bring you in a Shilling, but what you have snapp’d up, like a greedy
Hound as you are?
In the first Place, are you not Sexton and Dog-Whipper, worth Three
Pounds a Year?—Then you begg’d the Church-Wardens to let your Wife have
the Washing and Darning of the Surplice and Church-Linen, which brings
you in Thirteen Shillings and Four Pence.—Then you have Six Shillings
and Eight Pence for oiling and winding up the Clock, both paid you at
_Easter_.—The Pinder’s Place, which is worth Forty Shillings a
Year,—you have got that too.—You are the Bailiff, which the late Parson
got you, which brings you in Forty Shillings more.—Besides all this,
you have Six Pounds a Year, paid you Quarterly for being Mole-Catcher
to the Parish.—Aye, says the luckless Wight above-mentioned, (who was
standing close to him with his Plush Breeches on) “You are not only
Mole-Catcher, _Trim_, but you catch STRAY CONIES too in the _Dark;_ and
you pretend a _Licence_ for it, which, I trove, will be look’d into at
the next Quarter Sessions.” I maintain it, I have a Licence, says
_Trim_, blushing as red as Scarlet:—I have a Licence,—and as I farm a
Warren in the next Parish, I will catch Conies every Hour of the
Night.—_You catch Conies!_ cries a toothless old Woman, who was just
passing by.—
This set the Mob a laughing, and sent every Man home in perfect good
Humour, except _Trim_, who waddled very slowly off with that Kind of
inflexible Gravity only to be equalled by one Animal in the whole
Creation,—and surpassed by none, I am,
SIR,
Yours, &c. &c.