One morning Lady Delacour was complaining to Belinda, that the books in the library were in dreadful confusion. “My lord has really a very fine library,” said she; “but I wish he had half as many books twice as well arranged: I never can find any thing I want. Dr. X——, I wish to heaven you could recommend a librarian to my lord—not a chaplain, observe.”
“Why not a chaplain, may I ask your ladyship?” said the doctor.
“Oh, because we had once a chaplain, who gave me a surfeit of the whole tribe. The meanest sycophant, yet the most impertinent busy-body—always cringing, yet always intriguing—wanting to govern the whole family, and at the same time every creature’s humble servant—fawning to my lord the bishop, insolent to the poor curate—anathematizing all who differed from him in opinion, yet without dignity to enforce the respect due to his faith or his profession—greedy for preferment, yet without a thought of the duties of his office. It was the common practice of this man to leap from his horse at the church door on a holiday, after following a pack of hounds, huddle on his surplice, and gabble over the service with the most indecent mockery of religion. Do I speak with acrimony? I have reason. It was this chaplain who first led my lord to Newmarket; it was he who first taught my lord to drink. Then he was a wit—an insufferable wit. His conversation after he had drank was such as no woman but Harriot Freke could understand, and such as few gentlemen could hear. I have never, alas! been thought a prude, but in the heyday of my youth and gaiety, this man always disgusted me. In one word, he was a buck parson. I hope you have as great a horror for this species of animal as I have?”
“Full as great,” replied Dr. X——; “but I consider them as monsters, which belonging to no species, can disgrace none.”
“They ought to be hunted by common consent out of civilized society,” said Lady Delacour.
“They are by public opinion banished from all rational society; and your ladyship’s just indignation proves, that they have no chance of being tolerated by fashion. But would it not allow such beings too much consequence, would it not extend their power to do mischief, if we perceived that one such person could disgust Lady Delacour with the whole race of chaplains?”
“It is uncommon,” replied her ladyship, “to hear a physician earnest in the defence of the clergy—and a literary philosophic physician too! Shall we have an eulogium upon bishops as well as chaplains?”
“We have had that already,” replied Dr. X——. “All ranks, persuasions, and descriptions of people, including, I hope, those stigmatized by the name of philosophers, have joined in admiration of the bishop of St. Pol de Leon. The conduct of the real martyrs to their faith amongst the French clergy, not even the most witty or brutal sceptic could ridicule.”
“You surprise me, doctor!” said Lady Delacour; “for I assure you that you have the character of being very liberal in your opinions.”
“I hope I am liberal in my opinions,” replied the doctor, “and that I give your ladyship a proof of it.”