Our Vestry
WE have the glorious privilege of being always in hot water if we
like. We are a shareholder in a Great Parochial British Joint
Stock Bank of Balderdash. We have a Vestry in our borough, and can
vote for a vestryman - might even BE a vestryman, mayhap, if we
were inspired by a lofty and noble ambition. Which we are not.
Our Vestry is a deliberative assembly of the utmost dignity and
importance. Like the Senate of ancient Rome, its awful gravity
overpowers (or ought to overpower) barbarian visitors. It sits in
the Capitol (we mean in the capital building erected for it),
chiefly on Saturdays, and shakes the earth to its centre with the
echoes of its thundering eloquence, in a Sunday paper.
To get into this Vestry in the eminent capacity of Vestryman,
gigantic efforts are made, and Herculean exertions used. It is
made manifest to the dullest capacity at every election, that if we
reject Snozzle we are done for, and that if we fail to bring in
Blunderbooze at the top of the poll, we are unworthy of the dearest
rights of Britons. Flaming placards are rife on all the dead walls
in the borough, public-houses hang out banners, hackney-cabs burst
into full-grown flowers of type, and everybody is, or should be, in
a paroxysm of anxiety.
At these momentous crises of the national fate, we are much
assisted in our deliberations by two eminent volunteers; one of
whom subscribes himself A Fellow Parishioner, the other, A Rate-
Payer. Who they are, or what they are, or where they are, nobody
knows; but, whatever one asserts, the other contradicts. They are
both voluminous writers, indicting more epistles than Lord
Chesterfield in a single week; and the greater part of their
feelings are too big for utterance in anything less than capital
letters. They require the additional aid of whole rows of notes of
admiration, like balloons, to point their generous indignation; and
they sometimes communicate a crushing severity to stars. As thus:
MEN OF MOONEYMOUNT.
Is it, or is it not, a * * * to saddle the parish with a debt of
2,745 pounds 6S. 9D., yet claim to be a RIGID ECONOMIST?
Is it, or is it not, a * * * to state as a fact what is proved to
be BOTH A MORAL AND A PHYSICAL IMPOSSIBILITY?
Is it, or is it not, a * * * to call 2,745 pounds 6S. 9D. nothing;
and nothing, something?
Do you, or do you NOT want a * * * TO REPRESENT YOU IN THE VESTRY?
Your consideration of these questions is recommended to you by
A FELLOW PARISHIONER.
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.
-THE END-
Charles Dickens' short story: Our Vestry
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