The case of this Gentleman deserves pity, especially if he loves
sweetmeats; to which, if I may guess by his letter, he is no enemy.
In the meantime, I have often wondered at the indecency of discarding the
holiest man from the table, as soon as the most delicious parts of the
entertainment are served up: and could never conceive a reason for so
absurd a custom.
Is it because a licorous palate, or a sweet tooth (as they call it), is
not consistent with the sanctity of his character?
This is but a trifling pretence! No man of the most rigid virtue, gives
offence by any excesses in plum pudding or plum porridge; and that,
because they are the first parts of the dinner. Is there anything that
tends to _incitation_ in sweetmeats, more than in ordinary dishes?
Certainly not! Sugar-plums are a very innocent diet; and conserves of a
much colder nature than your common pickles.
I have sometimes thought that the Ceremony of the _Chaplain flying away
from the Dessert_ was typical and figurative. To mark out to the company,
how they ought to retire from all the luscious baits of temptation, and
deny their appetites the gratifications that are most pleasing to them.
Or, at least, to signify that we ought to stint ourselves in the most
lawful satisfactions; and not make our Pleasure, but our Support the end
of eating.
But, most certainly, if such a lesson of temperance had been necessary at
a table: our Clergy would have recommended it to all the Lay masters of
families; and not have disturbed other men's tables with such
unreasonable examples of abstinence.
The original therefore of this _barbarous custom_, I take to have been
merely accidental.
The Chaplain retired, out of pure complaisance, to make room for the
removal of the dishes, or possibly for the ranging of the dessert. This,
by degrees, grew into a duty; till, at length, as the fashion improved,
the good man found himself cut off from the Third part of the
entertainment: and, if the arrogance of the Patron goes on, it is not
impossible but, in the next generation, he may see himself reduced to the
Tithe or Tenth Dish of the table. A sufficient caution not to part with
any privilege we are once possessed of!
It was usual for the Priest, in old times, to feast upon the sacrifice,
nay the honey cake; while the hungry Laity looked upon him with great
devotion: or, as the late Lord ROCHESTER describes it in a very lively
manner,
_And while the Priest did eat, the People stared_.
At present, the custom is inverted. The Laity feast while the Priest
stands by as an humble spectator.
This necessarily puts the good man upon making great ravages on all the
dishes that stand near him; and upon distinguishing himself by
voraciousness of appetite, as knowing that "his time is short."
I would fain ask these stiff-necked Patrons, Whether they would not take
it ill of a Chaplain that, in his grace, after meat, should return thanks
for the whole entertainment, with an exception to the dessert? And yet I
cannot but think that in such a proceeding, he would but deal with them
as they deserved.
What would a Roman Catholic priest think (who is always helped first, and
placed next the ladies), should he see a Clergyman giving his company the
slip at the first appearance of the tarts or sweetmeats? Would he not
believe that he had the same antipathy to a candid orange or a piece of
puff paste, as some have to a Cheshire cheese or a breast of mutton?
Yet to so ridiculous a height is this foolish custom grown, that even the
Christmas Pie, which in its very nature is a kind of consecrated cake and
a badge of distinction, is often forbidden to the Druid of the family.
Strange! that a sirloin of beef, whether boiled or roasted, when entire,
is exposed to his utmost depredations and incisions; but if minced into
small pieces and tossed up with plums and sugar, it changes its property;
and, forsooth, it is meat for his Master!
In this Case, I know not which to censure [_blame_], the Patron or the
Chaplain! the insolence of power, or the abjectness of dependence!
For my own part, I have often blushed to see a Gentleman, whom I knew to
have more Wit and Learning than myself, and who was bred up with me at
the University upon the same foot of a liberal education, treated in such
an ignominious manner; and sunk beneath those of his own rank, by reason
of that character which ought to bring him honour.
This deters men of generous minds from placing themselves in such a
station of life; and by that means frequently excludes Persons of Quality
from the improving and agreeable conversation of a learned and obsequious
friend.
Mr. OLDHAM lets us know that he was affrighted from the thought of such
an employment, by the scandalous sort of treatment, which often
accompanies it.
_Some think themselves exalted to the sky,
If they light in some noble family:
Diet, a horse, and Thirty pounds a year;
Besides th' advantage of his Lordship's ear,
The credit of the business, and the State;
Are things that in a youngster's sense sound_ great.
_Little the unexperienced wretch does know,
What slavery he oft must undergo!
Who, though in silken scarf and cassock drest,
Wears but a gayer_ livery, _at best.
When dinner calls, the Implement must wait,
With holy words to consecrate the meat:
But hold it, for a favour seldom known,
If he be deigned the honour to sit down!
Soon as the tarts appear, "Sir CRAPE, withdraw!
These dainties are not for a spiritual maw!
Observe your distance! and be sure to stand
Hard by the cistern with your cap in hand!
There, for diversion, you may pick your teeth
Till the kind Voider comes for your relief."
Let others who, such meannesses can brook,
Strike countenance to every Great Man's look:
I rate my freedom higher!_
The author's raillery is the raillery of a friend, and does not turn the
Sacred Order into ridicule: but it is a just censure on such persons as
take advantages from the necessities of a Man of Merit, to impose upon
him hardships that are by no means suitable to the dignity of his
profession.