It was to this important public document that one of our first orators,
MR. MAGG (of Little Winkling Street), adverted, when he opened the great
debate of the fourteenth of November by saying, ‘Sir, I hold in my hand
an anonymous slander’—and when the interruption, with which he was at
that point assailed by the opposite faction, gave rise to that memorable
discussion on a point of order which will ever be remembered with
interest by constitutional assemblies. In the animated debate to which
we refer, no fewer than thirty-seven gentlemen, many of them of great
eminence, including MR. WIGSBY (of Chumbledon Square), were seen upon
their legs at one time; and it was on the same great occasion that
DOGGINSON—regarded in our Vestry as ‘a regular John Bull:’ we believe, in
consequence of his having always made up his mind on every subject
without knowing anything about it—informed another gentleman of similar
principles on the opposite side, that if he ‘cheek’d him,’ he would
resort to the extreme measure of knocking his blessed head off.
This was a great occasion. But, our Vestry shines habitually. In
asserting its own pre-eminence, for instance, it is very strong. On the
least provocation, or on none, it will be clamorous to know whether it is
to be ‘dictated to,’ or ‘trampled on,’ or ‘ridden over rough-shod.’ Its
great watchword is Self-government. That is to say, supposing our Vestry
to favour any little harmless disorder like Typhus Fever, and supposing
the Government of the country to be, by any accident, in such ridiculous
hands, as that any of its authorities should consider it a duty to object
to Typhus Fever—obviously an unconstitutional objection—then, our Vestry
cuts in with a terrible manifesto about Self-government, and claims its
independent right to have as much Typhus Fever as pleases itself. Some
absurd and dangerous persons have represented, on the other hand, that
though our Vestry may be able to ‘beat the bounds’ of its own parish, it
may not be able to beat the bounds of its own diseases; which (say they)
spread over the whole land, in an ever expanding circle of waste, and
misery, and death, and widowhood, and orphanage, and desolation. But,
our Vestry makes short work of any such fellows as these.
It was our Vestry—pink of Vestries as it is—that in support of its
favourite principle took the celebrated ground of denying the existence
of the last pestilence that raged in England, when the pestilence was
raging at the Vestry doors. Dogginson said it was plums; Mr. Wigsby (of
Chumbledon Square) said it was oysters; Mr. Magg (of Little Winkling
Street) said, amid great cheering, it was the newspapers. The noble
indignation of our Vestry with that un-English institution the Board of
Health, under those circumstances, yields one of the finest passages in
its history. It wouldn’t hear of rescue. Like Mr. Joseph Miller’s
Frenchman, it would be drowned and nobody should save it. Transported
beyond grammar by its kindled ire, it spoke in unknown tongues, and
vented unintelligible bellowings, more like an ancient oracle than the
modern oracle it is admitted on all hands to be. Rare exigencies produce
rare things; and even our Vestry, new hatched to the woful time, came
forth a greater goose than ever.
But this, again, was a special occasion. Our Vestry, at more ordinary
periods, demands its meed of praise.
Our Vestry is eminently parliamentary. Playing at Parliament is its
favourite game. It is even regarded by some of its members as a chapel
of ease to the House of Commons: a Little Go to be passed first. It has
its strangers’ gallery, and its reported debates (see the Sunday paper
before mentioned), and our Vestrymen are in and out of order, and on and
off their legs, and above all are transcendently quarrelsome, after the
pattern of the real original.
Our Vestry being assembled, Mr. Magg never begs to trouble Mr. Wigsby
with a simple inquiry. He knows better than that. Seeing the honourable
gentleman, associated in their minds with Chumbledon Square, in his
place, he wishes to ask that honourable gentleman what the intentions of
himself, and those with whom he acts, may be, on the subject of the
paving of the district known as Piggleum Buildings? Mr. Wigsby replies
(with his eye on next Sunday’s paper) that in reference to the question
which has been put to him by the honourable gentleman opposite, he must
take leave to say, that if that honourable gentleman had had the courtesy
to give him notice of that question, he (Mr. Wigsby) would have consulted
with his colleagues in reference to the advisability, in the present
state of the discussions on the new paving-rate, of answering that
question. But, as the honourable gentleman has NOT had the courtesy to
give him notice of that question (great cheering from the Wigsby
interest), he must decline to give the honourable gentleman the
satisfaction he requires. Mr. Magg, instantly rising to retort, is
received with loud cries of ‘Spoke!’ from the Wigsby interest, and with
cheers from the Magg side of the house. Moreover, five gentlemen rise to
order, and one of them, in revenge for being taken no notice of,
petrifies the assembly by moving that this Vestry do now adjourn; but, is
persuaded to withdraw that awful proposal, in consideration of its
tremendous consequences if persevered in. Mr. Magg, for the purpose of
being heard, then begs to move, that you, sir, do now pass to the order
of the day; and takes that opportunity of saying, that if an honourable
gentleman whom he has in his eye, and will not demean himself by more
particularly naming (oh, oh, and cheers), supposes that he is to be put
down by clamour, that honourable gentleman—however supported he may be,
through thick and thin, by a Fellow Parishioner, with whom he is well
acquainted (cheers and counter-cheers, Mr. Magg being invariably backed
by the Rate-Payer)—will find himself mistaken. Upon this, twenty members
of our Vestry speak in succession concerning what the two great men have
meant, until it appears, after an hour and twenty minutes, that neither
of them meant anything. Then our Vestry begins business.
We have said that, after the pattern of the real original, our Vestry in
playing at Parliament is transcendently quarrelsome. It enjoys a
personal altercation above all things. Perhaps the most redoubtable case
of this kind we have ever had—though we have had so many that it is
difficult to decide—was that on which the last extreme solemnities passed
between Mr. Tiddypot (of Gumption House) and Captain Banger (of
Wilderness Walk).
In an adjourned debate on the question whether water could be regarded in
the light of a necessary of life; respecting which there were great
differences of opinion, and many shades of sentiment; Mr. Tiddypot, in a
powerful burst of eloquence against that hypothesis, frequently made use
of the expression that such and such a rumour had ‘reached his ears.’
Captain Banger, following him, and holding that, for purposes of ablution
and refreshment, a pint of water per diem was necessary for every adult
of the lower classes, and half a pint for every child, cast ridicule upon
his address in a sparkling speech, and concluded by saying that instead
of those rumours having reached the ears of the honourable gentleman, he
rather thought the honourable gentleman’s ears must have reached the
rumours, in consequence of their well-known length. Mr. Tiddypot
immediately rose, looked the honourable and gallant gentleman full in the
face, and left the Vestry.
The excitement, at this moment painfully intense, was heightened to an
acute degree when Captain Banger rose, and also left the Vestry. After a
few moments of profound silence—one of those breathless pauses never to
be forgotten—Mr. Chib (of Tucket’s Terrace, and the father of the Vestry)
rose. He said that words and looks had passed in that assembly, replete
with consequences which every feeling mind must deplore. Time pressed.
The sword was drawn, and while he spoke the scabbard might be thrown
away. He moved that those honourable gentlemen who had left the Vestry
be recalled, and required to pledge themselves upon their honour that
this affair should go no farther. The motion being by a general union of
parties unanimously agreed to (for everybody wanted to have the
belligerents there, instead of out of sight: which was no fun at all),
Mr. Magg was deputed to recover Captain Banger, and Mr. Chib himself to
go in search of Mr. Tiddypot. The Captain was found in a conspicuous
position, surveying the passing omnibuses from the top step of the
front-door immediately adjoining the beadle’s box; Mr. Tiddypot made a
desperate attempt at resistance, but was overpowered by Mr. Chib (a
remarkably hale old gentleman of eighty-two), and brought back in safety.
Mr. Tiddypot and the Captain being restored to their places, and glaring
on each other, were called upon by the chair to abandon all homicidal
intentions, and give the Vestry an assurance that they did so. Mr.
Tiddypot remained profoundly silent. The Captain likewise remained
profoundly silent, saying that he was observed by those around him to
fold his arms like Napoleon Buonaparte, and to snort in his
breathing—actions but too expressive of gunpowder.
The most intense emotion now prevailed. Several members clustered in
remonstrance round the Captain, and several round Mr. Tiddypot; but, both
were obdurate. Mr. Chib then presented himself amid tremendous cheering,
and said, that not to shrink from the discharge of his painful duty, he
must now move that both honourable gentlemen be taken into custody by the
beadle, and conveyed to the nearest police-office, there to be held to
bail. The union of parties still continuing, the motion was seconded by
Mr. Wigsby—on all usual occasions Mr. Chib’s opponent—and rapturously
carried with only one dissentient voice. This was Dogginson’s, who said
from his place ‘Let ’em fight it out with fistes;’ but whose coarse
remark was received as it merited.
The beadle now advanced along the floor of the Vestry, and beckoned with
his cocked hat to both members. Every breath was suspended. To say that
a pin might have been heard to fall, would be feebly to express the
all-absorbing interest and silence. Suddenly, enthusiastic cheering
broke out from every side of the Vestry. Captain Banger had risen—being,
in fact, pulled up by a friend on either side, and poked up by a friend
behind.
The Captain said, in a deep determined voice, that he had every respect
for that Vestry and every respect for that chair; that he also respected
the honourable gentleman of Gumpton House; but, that he respected his
honour more. Hereupon the Captain sat down, leaving the whole Vestry
much affected. Mr. Tiddypot instantly rose, and was received with the
same encouragement. He likewise said—and the exquisite art of this
orator communicated to the observation an air of freshness and
novelty—that he too had every respect for that Vestry; that he too had
every respect for that chair. That he too respected the honourable and
gallant gentleman of Wilderness Walk; but, that he too respected his
honour more. ‘Hows’ever,’ added the distinguished Vestryman, ‘if the
honourable and gallant gentleman’s honour is never more doubted and
damaged than it is by me, he’s all right.’ Captain Banger immediately
started up again, and said that after those observations, involving as
they did ample concession to his honour without compromising the honour
of the honourable gentleman, he would be wanting in honour as well as in
generosity, if he did not at once repudiate all intention of wounding the
honour of the honourable gentleman, or saying anything dishonourable to
his honourable feelings. These observations were repeatedly interrupted
by bursts of cheers. Mr. Tiddypot retorted that he well knew the spirit
of honour by which the honourable and gallant gentleman was so honourably
animated, and that he accepted an honourable explanation, offered in a
way that did him honour; but, he trusted that the Vestry would consider
that his (Mr. Tiddypot’s) honour had imperatively demanded of him that
painful course which he had felt it due to his honour to adopt. The
Captain and Mr. Tiddypot then touched their hats to one another across
the Vestry, a great many times, and it is thought that these proceedings
(reported to the extent of several columns in next Sunday’s paper) will
bring them in as church-wardens next year.
All this was strictly after the pattern of the real original, and so are
the whole of our Vestry’s proceedings. In all their debates, they are
laudably imitative of the windy and wordy slang of the real original, and
of nothing that is better in it. They have head-strong party
animosities, without any reference to the merits of questions; they tack
a surprising amount of debate to a very little business; they set more
store by forms than they do by substances:—all very like the real
original! It has been doubted in our borough, whether our Vestry is of
any utility; but our own conclusion is, that it is of the use to the
Borough that a diminishing mirror is to a painter, as enabling it to
perceive in a small focus of absurdity all the surface defects of the
real original.