all bronze equestrian statue of the same
prince, and another of George the Third. There were some other portraits
of past and present jurors, presented by themselves or their friends.
But there was certainly one which we cannot omit, although by whom
presented, or on what occasion, we are wholly unable to inform the
reader. We are inclined to think it must have been placed there by some
satirical wag, who wished to ridicule the extent to which mere royalty
was carried in those days, and the warmth of admiration with which its
most besotted manifestations were received. The picture in question was
the portrait of a pious hangman, who was too conscientious to hang any
one but a Papist. They called him Jerry Giles; a little squat fellow,
with a face like a triangle, a broken nose, and a pair of misplaced or
ill-matched eye-brows, one of them being nearly an inch higher up the
forehead than the other. Jerry, it seems, had his own opinions, one of
which was, that there existed no law in the constitution for hanging a
Protestant. He said that if he were to hang a Protestant felon, he
would be forced to consider it in his conscience only another name for
suicide; and that, with a blessing, he would string up none but
such vile wretches as were out of the pale of the constitution, and
consequently not entitled to any political grace or salvation whatever.
And, indeed, upon the principles of the day, the portrait of Jerry was
nearly as well entitled to be hung among the grand jurors as that of any
one there.

Seated about a long table, covered with green baize, were a number of
men, with papers before them; whilst grouped in different parts of the
room were the younger persons, amusing themselves by the accidents of
the last meet--if it happened to be the hunting season--or the last
duel, or the last female victim to the corruption and profligacy of
some of those from whom, the people were to expect justice, and their
families protection. Others were whistling or humming some favorite air;
and one of them, a poet, was reading a squib which he had prepared for
the forthcoming election.

"Deaker, come here," said the Foreman, "you are up to everything. Here
is Lucre, the parson, wants to have a presentment for a new line of road
running through his glebe, or to his glebe--for I suppose it is the same
thing."

"Well," replied Deaker, "and let him have it. Isn't he as well entitled
to a job as any of us? What the devil--why not p