# A Political Romance/A Political Romance, &c.

A
Political Romance,
Addressed
To ——— ———, Esq;
OF
YORK.
To which is subjoined a
KEY.
YORK:
Printed in the Year MDCCLIX.
[Price One Shilling.]
A
Political Romance, &c.
SIR,
N my last, for want, of something better to write about, I told you what a World of Fending and Proving we have had of late, in this little Village of ours, about an old-cast-Pair-of-black-Plush-Breeches, which John, our Parish-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 Behaviour of this said Master Trim,—and that ​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 Parson of the Parish and the said Master Trim, ​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 Gentleman 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 ​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 together, I say, the Parson of the Parish in­tended to serve Trim in this Matter to the utmost of his Power: All that was want­ing was previously to inquire, if any one ​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 In­quiries 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 Af­fair. For this, and some other Reasons not necessary to be told you, at present, Trim was for allowing no Time in this Mat­ter;—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 na­tural Effect on the Side of the Parson, and that was, a Suspicion that all was not right at the Bottom.
​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 up­on the Affair, and running over Trim's Be­haviour throughout,—he was just saying to himself, It must be so; when a sudden Rap at the Door put an End to his Solilo­quy,—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 un­clasped 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:
MEMORANDUM.
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 Successors, for ever, to be worn by them respectively in winterly 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 ex­eeded 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 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 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 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 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 un­​kind 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 Offense, 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 Pretensions 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 Thir­​teen 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 trow, 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.
FINIS.