After Snobs-Military, Snobs-Clerical suggest themselves
quite naturally, and it is clear that, with every respect
for the cloth, yet having a regard for truth, humanity,
and the British public, such a vast and influential class
must not be omitted from our notices of the great Snob
world.
Of these Clerics there are some whose claim to
snobbishness is undoubted, and yet it cannot be discussed
here; for the same reason that PUNCH would not set up his
show in a Cathedral, out of respect for the solemn
service celebrated within. There are some places where
he acknowledges himself not privileged to make a noise,
and puts away his show, and silences his drum, and takes
off his hat, and holds his peace.
And I know this, that if there are some Clerics who do
wrong, there are straightway a thousand newspapers to
haul up those unfortunates, and cry, 'Fie upon them, fie
upon them!' while, though the press is always ready to
yell and bellow excommunication against these stray
delinquent parsons, it somehow takes very little count of
the many good ones--of the tens of thousands of honest
men, who lead Christian lives, who give to the poor
generously, who deny themselves rigidly, and live and die
in their duty, without ever a newspaper paragraph in
their favour. My beloved friend and reader, I wish you
and I could do the same: and let me whisper my belief,
ENTRE NOUS that of those eminent philosophers who cry out
against parsons the loudest, there are not many who have
got their knowledge of the church by going thither often.
But you who have ever listened to village bells, or
walked to church as children on sunny Sabbath mornings;
you who have ever seen the parson's wife tending the poor
man's bedside; or the town clergyman threading the dirty
stairs of noxious alleys upon his business;--do not raise
a shout when one falls away, or yell with the mob that
howls after him.
Every man can do that. When old Father Noah was
overtaken in his cups, there was only one of his sons
that dared to make merry at his disaster, and he was not
the most virtuous of the family. Let us too turn away
silently, nor huzza like a parcel of school-boys, because
some big young rebel suddenly starts up and whops the
schoolmaster.
I confess, though, if I had by me the names of those
seven or eight Irish bishops, the probates of whose wills
were mentioned in last year's journals, and who died
leaving behind them some two hundred thousand a-piece--I
would like to put THEM up as patrons of my Clerical
Snobs, and operate upon them as successfully as I see
from the newspapers Mr. Eisenberg, Chiropodist, has
lately done upon 'His Grace the Reverend Lord Bishop of
Tapioca.'
I confess that when those Right Reverend Prelates come up
to the gates of Paradise with their probates of wills in
their hands, I think that their chance is.... But the
gates of Paradise is a far way to follow their Lordships;
so let us trip down again lest awkward questions be asked
there about our own favourite vices too.
And don't let us give way to the vulgar prejudice, that
clergymen are an over-paid and luxurious body of men.
When that eminent ascetic, the late Sydney Smith--(by the
way, by what law of nature is it that so many Smiths in
this world are called Sydney Smith?)--lauded the system
of great prizes in the Church,--without which he said
gentlemen would not be induced to follow the clerical
profession, he admitted most pathetically that the clergy
in general were by no means to be envied for their
worldly prosperity. From reading the works of some
modern writers of repute, you would fancy that a parson's
life was passed in gorging himself with plum-pudding and
port-wine; and that his Reverence's fat chaps were always
greasy with the crackling of tithe pigs. Caricaturists
delight to represent him so: round, short-necked, pimple-
faced, apoplectic, bursting out of waistcoat, like a
black-pudding, a shovel-hatted fuzz-wigged Silenus.
Whereas, if you take the real man, the poor fellow's
flesh-pots are very scantily furnished with meat. He
labours commonly for a wage that a tailor's foreman would
despise: he has, too, such claims upon his dismal income
as most philosophers would rather grumble to meet; many
tithes are levied upon HIS pocket, let it be remembered,
by those who grudge him his means of livelihood. He has
to dine with the Squire: and his wife must dress neatly;
and he must 'look like a gentleman,' as they call it, and
bring up six great hungry sons as such. Add to this, if
he does his duty, he has such temptations to spend his
money as no mortal man could withstand. Yes; you who
can't resist purchasing a chest of cigars, because they
are so good; or an ormolu clock at Howell and James's,
because it is such a bargain; or a box at the Opera,
because Lablache and Grisi are divine in the PURITANI;
fancy how difficult it is for a parson to resist spending
a half-crown when John Breakstone's family are without a
loaf; or 'standing' a bottle of port for poor old Polly
Rabbits, who has her thirteenth child; or treating
himself to a suit of corduroys for little Bob Scarecrow,
whose breeches are sadly out at elbows. Think of these
temptations, brother moralists and philosophers, and
don't be too hard on the parson.
But what is this? Instead of 'showing up' the parsons,
are we indulging in maudlin praises of that monstrous
black-coated race? O saintly Francis, lying at rest
under the turf; O Jimmy, and Johnny, and Willy, friends
of my youth! O noble and dear old Elias! how should he
who knows you not respect you and your calling? May this
pen never write a pennyworth again, if it ever casts
ridicule upon either!