An Ebullient Clergyman of Yesteryear

At the convenient hour of six, so that worship services should not interfere with the evening meal, vespers were celebrated with magnificence. The church blazed with lights with clouds of incense, and the air was full of the splendour of psalms sung to rich tunes, while the hymns were some of the favourites from 'Ancient and Modern'; though evening dress was optional, many people dropped in, in evening dress, on their way home before dinner. There were ladies in gowns and tiaras, plus substantial fathers, young men and girls, all in a row, with their chins rising and falling as they rumbled lustily with the hymns. Certainly Mr Spendacre succeeded in making religion, or, at any rate, attendance at Sunday services, fashionable in his parish. It was the thing to go to church, though whether, as with other fashions, it was a temporary enthusiasm, remained to be seen.

On weekdays the devotional needs of his congregation weren't so sumptuously attended to, for the Reverend and Honourable Mr Spendacre, like most children of the light, was aware that his flock were busy people. Besides, he had very strong notions of the duty of every man and woman to do their work in the world, even if their work consisted in the passionate pursuit of pleasure. He, himself, was a busy man, for since he made it his duty to know his flock, and since his flock were those who gave luncheon and dinner parties in great profusion, it followed that he had many invitations to these festivities, and accepted as many as he could possibly manage.

But he never ate meat on Fridays. To ‘make meagre’ on Fridays was his motto, and since most of his flock had excellent chefs, Friday, though a meatless day, was an extremely well-fed one, for with salmon, trout and caviare, and a dish of asparagus and some soufflé of cheese, one could make a very decent pretence of lunching, especially if good wines flowed fast as a compensation for this ecclesiastical abstinence. It was a pastime for hostesses to exercise the ingenuity of their chefs in producing dishes, strictly vegetarian, in which a subtle combination of herbs produced a meaty flavour, and to observe Mr Spendacre's face when he thought he tasted veal. But he was formally assured that no four-legged, or two-legged, animal had so much as walked into a stew-pot, and, in consequence, and with many compliments, he sometimes asked for a second helping.

All this endeared the Reverend and Honourable Mr Spendacre to his people. They said, 'He is very human and not the least like a clergyman.' He was not pleased with this remark, if it were brought to his ears. He thought that the office of a priest was to enter into the joys and pleasures of those he ministered to, and not to exact their attendance at church, for, as he said of himself, ‘it could bore them stiff with his interminable sermons.’

But to view him at an evening party, it was more the other guests that entered into his pleasures, than he in to theirs, for he was one of the best dancers that ever stepped, and there was a queue of ladies who waited to have a turn with their terpsichorean rector.

Such was the accomplishments of the Reverend and Honourable Mr Spendacre during his sojourn at St Sabina's Church, which was one of exaltation for both him and his valuable flock.