gated and talked over by the indefatigable commissioners, till they found, in the grant of his allotment of common land, a clause which filled them with delight. It specified that a certain portion of the said land should always be kept under grass, to be open after Lammas-day for the reception of horses, cows, and other cattle, belonging to respectable inhabitants of the parish, upon the payment of moderate fees, which were named. Now, Mr. Munic, according to his interpretation of the said clause, considered himself justified in excluding asses from the said pasture; and this was the question which our worthies in office resolved to argue against him at the vestry-meeting, as their chief accusation. At the same time it was resolved, "not to forget to have a fling, every now and then, at the leg of mutton and trimmings," in order to keep up and excite envious feelings; which, more than any others, they had always found to promote their views. When Mr. Munic understood for what purpose the vestry-meeting was held, he attended to give his reasons for acting as he had done. After reading the clause in his grant, he said, in a very plain, straightforward way, "You see, gentlemen, the animals in question are not mentioned, and therefore I feel confident that it was the intention of our ancestors and predecessors to exclude them; for they knew what mischievous creatures asses are as well as we do. They are always kicking at more valuable beasts, and breaking through fences, and doing other damages, which their owners are unable to make good, being seldom persons in a respectable station of life." Hereupon there was an immense uproar in the crowded vestry, which contained many persons whose claims to respectability were extremely questiouable. Some cried, "Order! order!" some roared, "Chair! chair!" others imitated the braying of asses to admiration, and others crowed like cocks. When the tumult had subsided, the chief commissioner, apparently much excited, spoke to the following effect: Respectability! I should like to know what respectability means! I suppose Mr. Munic considers no man respectable, unless he can afford to waste his money in giving legs of fat mutton and trimmings to a set of his bloated, idiotic, lazy dependents!(Cheers from the beggarman and his set, at which the speaker's eyes glistened as he went on): Such may be his opinion, though he dare not say so. Such may be the whisper of a faction among us; but I say, that a share of the pasture of the common land is the natural birthright of all. Asses and cows, horses and pigs, mules and sheep, shall all be admitted. Talk not to me about damages, which, perhaps, never may be committed! That is the height of illiberality and absurdity! What right has any man to affirm that the rich man's horse is less vicious than the poor man's donkey? Really it is scandalous, and those who say so do not believe it in their hearts, but wish to uphold any prejudice which may answer the purpose of supporting a corrupt system. However, it's all up with them now, as we've settled what is to be done, and know we can carry our point. So it's of no use to say any more, but let us come to the vote at once." He then read a string of resolutions, by which Mr. Munic was enjoined to admit everybody's cattle, of every description, into his meadow, and forbidden to exercise any opinion of his own relative to the respectability or responsibility of their owners. Against this last proposition the old gentleman stoutly argued, and maintained, that, in common justice, he was entitled to claim a deposit or security to indemnify him against damage; and the sum he proposed was ten shillings. Our new men declared, that the exaction of such an amount was extravagant, ridiculous, unnecessary, and ilJiberal; but (as Mr. Munic had many friends in the vestry) they were fearful of carrying things to extremes, so proposed the sum of one shilling. Hereupon followed a somewhat tedious debate, which terminated by allowing him to demand security to the amount of half-a-crown; and then the original resolutions were put to the vote, and carried by a shew of hands, amid great uproar and confusion, and loud cheering by the beggarman and his followers. "Well," observed Mr. Munic, very calmly, "you have it all your own way here it seems, and it certainly is my wish, as well as my duty, to pay all proper deference to the parish authorities; but this is a question which cannot be finally settled by a vestrymeeting, therefore I shall make no alterations in my present system till authorised by Squire Peers, the justice, whom I have always found a steady supporter of the rights of all classes." "Ha, ha, ha! ho, ho, ho!" exclaimed one of the commissioners. "He's a remarkably stupid, illiberal, prejudiced, ignorant, old gentleman, that same Squire Peers; but you won't find him quite such a fool as to take up your cause against us. We've already saddled what he called his extraparochial estate with a broken-down mountebank, a coalheaver, and several more of that sort; and, if he doesn't mind what he's at, we'll fix another lot of paupers upon him, for his boundarylines and landmarks are not exactly where they used to be." "You may say that!" roared the beggarman; "I moved one great, big stone, myself, and set it somewhere else, a pretty considerable long way off — I don't exactly know where, because I did it in the dark." "Never mind," said one of his comrades; "I'll swear it's in the right place.' "So will I! So will we !" shouted the rest of his comrades. "So will we, if you shift it twenty times." "I look upon those old boundarystones as a most intolerable nuisance," observed a commissioner; "they serve only to frighten horses and old women. I wish they were all broken up to mend the road with: do you catch the idea?" Ay, ay!" roared a fellow; "the road of the march of intellect." "That's it!" bellowed a second. "Down with all old landmarks!" shouted a third. "Won't we?" screamed a fourth; and then others joined in, crying, "It's all up with old Munic! Asses for ever! Egh, egh! ye-augh! Hang old Peers! what business has he with an estate more than us?" And so, amid hooting, yelling, crowing, and braying, the vestry-meeting broke up. Now Squire Peers' ancestors were "Fine old English gentlemen, of the good olden time;" and on many occasions have they prevented the parish from going to loggerheads among themselves, when the churchwarden was unpopular. So, were always accustomed to look up to the squire for the time being as an umpire; and this the more, because his decisions were always given in the spirit of even-handed justice. We considered his position in society to be a sort of guarantee that he was not likely to have his judgment warped, nor permit his mind to be unduly excited, as ours too frequently have been, by talking and disputing about church-rates, and other matters, till each party have believed their opponents to be little better than devils incarnate. In general, it was the old gentleman's custom to deliver an opinion calmly, as a sort of casting-vote; but, on one occasion, when the churchwarden of the day insisted upon levying unjust rates, and the parishioners were terrified into compliance by a set of swaggering beadles and constables, the squire said, very plainly, "Hark ye, Mr. Churchwarden! You've succeeded in frightening these poor peo ple, but I'm determined that they shall not be robbed in this sort of way. You know I have supported you in all your proper authority, and always will; but now you've gone beyond the law, and so I'll commence an action against you myself, and stand to all the expenses." 66 Surely, you wouldn't think of doing such a thing!" exclaimed the ter rified churchwarden. “But I will,” said the squire sternly; as sure as your name is John Noland, I will, if you don't sign an agreement to give up all these illegal demands, and promise never to act against the law in future; ay, and that before you leave this house, too." The churchwarden, hereupon, made divers lame excuses, and tried to shuffle out of the scrape; but the old gentleman was firm, and at last brought him to sign the paper. So, for a considerable time after, the parish rung with the praises of the Peers; but, latterly, this and other benefits from the same source are voted by our new overseers to be merely "old almanac matters." Well, after the decision in the vestry, Mr. Munic went up to the squire's, to ask his opinion as a magistrate, and was followed by our commissioners, and some of their and the beggarman's set, who made such an uproar in the justice-room, that it was some time before his worship could make himself informed of the particulars of the case, he asked Mr. Munic to state his objections to the proposed change. Upon this, the chief commissioner took upon himself to speak as follows:— "Please your worship! we have brought Mr. Munic here as a culprit, who has been going on wrong for many years, and would never have reformed, if we hadn't taken his affairs in hand. We've heard all he has to say; so you need not trouble yourself about that, for it would take up a great deal of your time. All we want is for you to back orders for the admission of sundry asses into his meadow, upon making a deposit of half-a-crown a head." "I have always considered Mr. Munic to be a quiet, respectable character," observed the magistrate; "nevertheless, if you have any accusation to bring against him, I shall, to the best of my abilities, judge impartially between you; but it will be impossible for me to do so, unless I hear what he he has to offer in his defence." "Bah!" exclaimed a commissioner rudely. "That's one of the foolish, antiquated prejudices which we hope to do away with. Never listen to any man, when he talks about what he understands so well as his own business, -for, if you do, you'll find yourself no match for him, and ten to one but he humbugs you. This case is very clear at present, and if you will but back our donkey-orders, there will be an end of it, and we and all the parish shall be very well satisfied; but if you once let old Munic begin with his blarney, he'll bother and bewilder you till you won't know who's right: and then, what will you do? Why, perhaps you'll say we are wrong; and what do you think the consequence of that will be? Why, all our people will say you are an enemy to the march of intellect and liberal opinions; and you cannot expect, in the present enlightened age, that they will not express their sentiments, and act accordingly. So then, old gentleman, you had better look well after your ricks; and as for your game and deer, why, other folks like venison as well as you. So, ahem! You'd better take the hint, or, mayhap, you'll find 'em scarce. The cheerings which followed this speech were composed of all sorts of threats and vulgar outcries; such as, "Go it, ye thieves!" "Newgate's on fire!" ""Tis my delight of a shiny night!" "Like a cut at a haunch, Tom?" "A blessed row we'll kick up! won't we?" And so forth. Well, to cut the story short, the worthy old gentleman was not to be scared from doing his duty by all their yellings. He listened patiently to Mr. Munic's representations, and, having considered the matter well, declared, that since asses had become more numerous in the parish than formerly, he thought that some of them might, without any great impropriety, be admitted into the meadow in question; but, certainly, not without sufficient guarantee against the damages they might commit. Therefore he recommended the sum of ten shillings, which, after a good deal of talking at the vestry, was at last sulkily agreed to by our new parish officers, who declared that a justice of the peace was of no sort of use; but that, if they were obliged to have one, he ought, at all events, to be one of their own choosing. This latter idea was caught at with avidity by the aspiring beggarman, who has never since ceased to go from one pothouse to another, abusing all the Peers' family, and, when among his own set, exclaiming, "If I can but get made a parish officer, and we choose our own justice of the peace, we shall have it all our way; and, then, what rows we will kick up! How we will go it! Down with the old parson, then, and the old schoolmaster, and old Munic, and all the rest of them!" Such anticipations are, of course, very agreeable to his raffish followers; so, when they cheer him, and look pleased, he has latterly taken the opportunity of adding, " But, remember, all depends upon me. Only see how I eat and drink, and talk myself to death, to serve you. I can't afford it any longer, upon my soul and honour! You must make me up thirty shillings a-week." GALLERY OF LITERARY CHARACTERS. [May, No. LXXII. SIR JOHN C. HOBHOUSE. THIS right honourable baronet is now a member of the cabinet presided overat least, nominally-by the brother of the gentleman whom he once so unmercifully exposed in Covent Garden to the cabbages and turnip-tops of its liberal electors, and the unsparing raillery of Mr. Canning, poured in with so much effect upon the "mud-bespattered Whigs, taking refuge from the oppression of their popu larity under the bayonets of the Horse Guards." Times are changed since. Hobhouse no longer writes letters to Lord Erskine, or Lord Erskine's friends, sneering at green ribands, and laughing at the pretensions to political purity in the holders of place and pension. men," when any of the Whigocracy forgets to advocate in power those doctrines We are no longer told to "Ask him, gentlewhich he had maintained to be indispensable to the very existence of the country while out of office. No! The usual change has taken place: the brawling patriot has been transformed into the lickspittle placeman. He began life as a butt of Lord Byron's, who made many most unsavoury rhymes on his name. In fact, we do not remember any person of note among us who has had the fortune of being saluted with titles less redolent of grace than Cam Hobhouse. Hook, by an error of the press, saluted him with an appellation which, it must be admitted, his personal appearance perpetually tends to suggest. Galt, in his notice of the Pot and Kettle controversy, bestowed upon him the title of the former utensil. Lord Palmerston (we believe) eulogised him in an ode in the John Bull, the first distich of which was "I care not a [very familiar beast] For John Cam Hobhouse." Cobbett styled him Sancho, from his obsequious servility to Sir Francis Burdett, to whom he bore the same relation as the greasy clown did to his mistaken but chivalrous master. The time has come when in the queer revolution of things which we are doomed to witness, our Sancho has got the government of an island, and rules India with a degree of wisdom which would excite envy in the cabinet of Barataria. We remember him. —we regret to say, a good many years ago-in Athens, where he distinguished himself by wearing a pair of green baize breeches, which produced an epigram hardly fit to be repeated to ears polite; but which, nevertheless, has appeared in print. The collection of such compliments paid to Hobhouse would be large. It is a pleasant reflection for any man that he should have been so particularly distinguished by his contemporaries. When he makes a gathering of works attributed to him, we trust that he will not forget the famous letter in which he boasted that three hundred Muciuses had sworn to murder Canning. He may append to it, as a fitting note, Canning's complimentary billet- that the author of a certain pamphlet was a liar and a scoundrel, who only wanted courage to be an assassin. It would also be an agreeable literary curiosity, if he were to publish at the same time Lord Byron's confidential note, in which his lordship recommended certain folks not to trouble themselves by making vain efforts to appear in the alien character of men of honour. He is perhaps the best exemplification of Lord Mansfield's saying, that popularity is gained without a merit, and lost without a fault. He had no claim whatever, except impudence and servility, on Westminster, when he was elected; and these qualities he possessed when he was turned out. One of the main pretences for his ejection, was his devotion to the cat-o-nine-tails. His successor has made that much-abused instrument the principal engine of discipline in his well-whipped and ill-fed army. records are short. The man has done nothing, because nothing is in him. Er Of Hobhouse's political career the nihilo nil fit - there is no getting blood from a turnip; and it is one of our misfortunes that we should be compelled to write about such people at all. But the amber of office embalms them for their day. Shrined for a while in that we are doomed to observe the forms of creeping things, our wonder at which-a small one under existing circumstances-secures the tribute of a page even to "my boy, Hobbio." We have added to his name the title of his first performance the Miscellany; or, as his friend Lord Byron (Murray's edition, vol. i. p. 185) |