GENTLEMEN OF THE PARISH.
Look up at the inscription on that venerable church defaced with plaster; what does it record? “Beautified by Samuel Smear and Daniel Daub, churchwardens.” And so these honest gentlemen call disguising that fine, old, stone building, with a thick coat of lime and hair, or whitewash, beautifying it!
What is the history of all this? Why the plain matter-of-fact is, that every parish officer thinks he has a right to make a round bill on the hamlet, during his year of power. An apothecary in office physics the poor. A glazier, first in cleaning, breaks the church-windows, and afterwards brings in a long bill for mending them. A painter repairs the commandments, puts new coats on Moses and Aaron, gilds the organ pipes, and dresses the little cherubim about the loft, as fine as vermilion, Prussian blue, and Dutch gold can make them. The late churchwardens chanced to be a silversmith and a woollen-draper; the silversmith new fashioned the communion plate, and the draper new clothed the pulpit, and put fresh curtains to the windows. All this might be done with some shadow of modesty, but to insult the good sense of every beholder with their beautified! Shame on them!
Dr. Burney tells of some parish officers, that they applied to Snetzler (a celebrated organ-builder) to examine their organ, and to make improvements on it—“Gentlemen,” said the honest Swiss, “your organ be wort von hondred pound, just now—well—I will spend von hondred pound upon it, and it shall then be wort fifty.”
For the Table Book.