A POLITICAL ROMANCE, &c.

IN my laſt, for want of ſome⯑thing better to write about, I told you what a World of Fending and Proving we have had of late, in this little Vil⯑lage of ours, about an old-caſt-Pair-of-black-Pluſh-Breeches, which John, our Pa⯑riſh-Clerk, about ten Years ago, it ſeems, had made a Promiſe of to one Trim, who is our Sexton and Dog-Whipper.—To this you write me Word, that you have had more than either one or two Occaſions to know a good deal of the ſhifty Beha⯑viour of this ſaid Maſter Trim,—and that [2] you are aſtoniſhed, nor can you for your Soul conceive, how ſo worthleſs a Fellow, and ſo worthleſs a Thing into the Bargain, could become the Occaſion of ſuch a Racket as I have repreſented.

Now, though you do not ſay expreſſly, you could wiſh to hear any more about it, yet I ſee plain enough that I have raiſed your Curioſity; and therefore, from the ſame Motive, that I ſlightly mentioned it at all in my laſt Letter, I will, in this, give you a full and very circumſtantial Account of the whole Affair.

But, before I begin, I muſt firſt ſet you right in one very material Point, in which I have miſſled you, as to the true Cauſe of all this Uproar amongſt us;—which does not take its Riſe, as I then told you, from the Affair of the Breeches;—but, on the contrary, the whole Affair of the Breeches has taken its Riſe from it:—To underſtand which, you muſt know, that the firſt Beginning of the Squabble was not between John the Pariſh-Clerk and Trim the Sexton, but betwixt the Par⯑ſon of the Pariſh and the ſaid Maſter Trim, [3] about an old Watch-Coat, which had many Years hung up in the Church, which Trim had ſet his Heart upon; and nothing would ſerve Trim but he muſt take it home, in order to have it converted into a warm Under-Petticoat for his Wife, and a Jerkin for himſelf, againſt Winter; which, in a plaintive Tone, he moſt humbly begg'd his Reverence would conſent to.

I need not tell you, Sir, who have ſo often felt it, that a Principle of ſtrong Compaſſion tranſports a generous Mind ſometimes beyond what is ſtrictly right,—the Parſon was within an Ace of being an honourable Example of this very Crime;—for no ſooner did the diſtinct Words—Petticoat—poor Wife—warm—Winter ſtrike upon his Ear,—but his Heart warmed,—and, before Trim had well got to the End of his Petition, (being a Gentle⯑man of a frank and open Temper) he told him he was welcome to it, with all his Heart and Soul. But, Trim, ſays he, as you ſee I am but juſt got down to my Living, and am an utter Stranger to all Pariſh-Matters, know nothing about this old Watch-Coat you beg of me, having never ſeen it in my [4] Life, and therefore cannot be a Judge whether 'tis fit for ſuch a Purpoſe; or, if it is, in Truth, know not whether 'tis mine to beſtow upon you or not;—you muſt have a Week or ten Days Patience, till I can make ſome Inquiries about it;—and, if I find it is in my Power, I tell you again, Man, your Wife is heartily welcome to an Under-Petticoat out of it, and you to a Jerkin, was the Thing as good again as you repreſent it.

It is neceſſary to inform you, Sir, in this Place, That the Parſon was earneſtly bent to ſerve Trim in this Affair, not only from the Motive of Generoſity, which I have juſtly aſcribed to him, but likewiſe from another Motive; and that was by way of making ſome Sort of Recompence for a Multitude of ſmall Services which Trim had occaſionally done, and indeed was continually doing, (as he was much about the Houſe) when his own Man was out of the Way. For all theſe Reaſons to⯑gether, I ſay, the Parſon of the Pariſh in⯑tended to ſerve Trim in this Matter to the utmoſt of his Power: All that was want⯑ing was previouſly to inquire, if any one [5] had a Claim to it;—or whether, as it had, Time immemorial, hung up in the Church, the taking it down might not raiſe a Clamour in the Pariſh. Theſe In⯑quiries were the very Thing that Trim dreaded in his Heart.—He knew very well that if the Parſon ſhould but ſay one Word to the Church-Wardens about it, there would be an End of the whole Af⯑fair. For this, and ſome other Reaſons not neceſſary to be told you, at preſent, Trim was for allowing no Time in this Mat⯑ter;—but, on the contrary, doubled his Diligence and Importunity at the Vicarage-Houſe;—plagued the whole Family to Death;—preſſed his Suit Morning, Noon, and Night; and, to ſhorten my Story, teazed the poor Gentleman, who was but in an ill State of Health, almoſt out of his Life about it.

You will not wonder, when I tell you, that all this Hurry and Precipitation, on the Side of Maſter Trim, produced its na⯑tural Effect on the Side of the Parſon, and that was, a Suſpicion that all was not right at the Bottom.

[6] He was one Evening ſitting alone in his Study, weighing and turning this Doubt every Way in his Mind; and, after an Hour and a half's ſerious Deliberation up⯑on the Affair, and running over Trim's Be⯑haviour throughout,—he was juſt ſaying to himſelf, It muſt be ſo;—when a ſudden Rap at the Door put an End to his Solilo⯑quy,—and, in a few Minutes, to his Doubts too; for a Labourer in the Town, who deem'd himſelf paſt his fifty-ſecond Year, had been returned by the Conſtable in the Militia-Liſt,—and he had come, with a Groat in his Hand, to ſearch the Pariſh Regiſter for his Age.—The Parſon bid the poor Fellow put the Groat into his Pocket, and go into the Kitchen:—Then ſhutting the Study Door, and taking down the Pariſh Regiſter,—Who knows, ſays he, but I may find ſomething here about this ſelf⯑ſame Watch-Coat?—He had ſcarce un⯑claſped the Book, in ſaying this, when he popp'd upon the very Thing he wanted, fairly wrote on the firſt Page, paſted to the Inſide of one of the Covers, whereon was a Memorandum about the very Thing in Queſtion, in theſe expreſs Words:

[7]

Scarce were the Words out of his Mouth, when in pops Trim with the whole Sub⯑ject 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,— [8] 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 ſub⯑ſiſting in the World, but which I have nei⯑ther 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 ex⯑ceeded 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 [9] that his Office did Honour to him.—Him he ſends for, with the Church-Wardens, and one of the Sides-Men, a grave, know⯑ing, old Man, to be preſent:—For as Trim had with-held 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 Precau⯑tion 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 Inte⯑grity.—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, ambi⯑dextrous 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 do⯑ing them the Good he wiſhed;—ſo that, out of Regard to his Flock, more than the [10] neceſſary Care due to himſelf,—he was re⯑ſolv'd not to lie at the Mercy of what Re⯑ſentment 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 Hear⯑ing of John the Pariſh-Clerk, and in the Preſence of Trim.

Trim had little to ſay for himſelf, ex⯑cept ‘"That the Parſon had abſolutely pro⯑miſed to be friend 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 ſtill 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 honeſt⯑ly:—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 [11] 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 Servi⯑ces.—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 [12] 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 par⯑ticular, about half a Year ago, when his Reverence cut his Finger in paring an Ap⯑ple, 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 Reve⯑rence took that violent Purge, that I went to the far End of the whole Town to bor⯑row 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 Remon⯑ſtrance with ſaying, ‘"He hoped his Re⯑verence's Heart would not ſuffer him to requite ſo many faithful Services by ſo un⯑kind [13] 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 De⯑fence, which Trim had put himſelf upon,—could admit of no other Reply but a ge⯑neral 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 De⯑bate to come out againſt him;—namely, That he had gone and told the Parſon, be⯑fore 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.—Up⯑on 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 War⯑rant;—then nothing would ſerve him but [14] 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 Correc⯑tion,—he let the Parſon alone; and, to re⯑venge 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, not⯑withſtanding 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 Cha⯑ſtiſement 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 Pa⯑riſh-Clerk of this Church, this ſaid Maſter Trim took no ſmall Pains to get into John's [15] 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 up⯑on 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 Bet⯑ter 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 pro⯑miſing 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 un⯑luckily, but, I ſhould rather ſay, moſt luckily, for Trim, for he was the only Gainer by it,—that a Quarrel, about ſome [16] 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 ap⯑proach'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 al⯑ter'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 Mat⯑ters.—This was Trim's Harveſt.

[17] 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 bet⯑ter;—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, conſi⯑dering 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 Diſtreſ⯑ſes?—Nay, it was but t'other Day that I promiſed you theſe black Pluſh Breeches I have on.—Rot your Breeches, quoth [18] 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 bet⯑ter 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 Spi⯑rit above taking Advantage of his Inſo⯑lence, 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 un⯑der 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; where⯑as, if I give 'em to you,—look ye, they [19] 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 undoubt⯑edly true; for Trim, you muſt know, by ſoul Feeding, and playing the good Fel⯑low at the Parſon's, was grown ſomewhat groſs about the lower Parts, if not higher: So that, as all John ſaid upon the Occa⯑ſion 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 Pretenſions whatſoever, in and to the ſaid Breeches; thereby binding his Heirs, Erecutors, Adminiſtrators, and Aſſignes, never mere to call the ſaid Claim in Que⯑ſtion.

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;— [20] which, by the Bye, could he have wheed⯑led 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 ta⯑ken 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 con⯑trary, ſtill envies the Poſſeſſor of them,— [21] 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 un⯑lucky 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, not⯑withſtanding 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 infolently, 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 [22] 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 Di⯑ſturbance in the Town, and ſet Neigh⯑bours 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 Waſh⯑ing and Darning of the Surplice and Church-Linen, which brings you in Thir⯑teen [23] 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 Quarter⯑ly for being Mole-Catcher to the Pariſh.—Aye, ſays the luckleſs Wight above-men⯑tioned, (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 trow, will be look'd into at the next Quarter Seſ⯑ſions."’ I maintain it, I have a Licence, ſays Trim, bluſhing as red as Scarlet:—I have a Licence,—and as I farm a War⯑ren 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, [24] 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,