Transcribed from the 1894 Roxburghe Press edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
The Law
and
Lawyers of Pickwick.
_A LECTURE_.
With an Original Drawing of "Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz."
BY
FRANK LOCKWOOD,
Q.C. M.P.
LONDON:
_THE ROXBURGHE PRESS_,
_3_, _Victoria Street_, _Westminster_,
AND
32, CHARING CROSS, S.W.
Uniform with this Edition.
CHARLES DICKENS' HEROINES AND WOMEN-FOLK:
Some Thoughts Concerning Them.
BY
CHARLES F. RIDEAL.
_With an original Drawing of Edith Dombey_.
{Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz: p0.jpg}
PREFATORY.
At the request of my friend Lord Russell of Killowen, then
Attorney-General, I delivered this lecture at the Morley Hall, Hackney,
on December 13th, 1893. I had previously delivered it in the city of
York at the request of some of my constituents. I feel that some apology
is required for its reproduction in a more permanent form, which apology
I most respectfully tender to all who may read this little book.
F. L.
THE LAW AND LAWYERS OF "PICKWICK."
Sir CHARLES RUSSELL: I stand but for a single instant between you and our
friend, Mr. Lockwood. He needs no introduction here; but I am sure I may
in your name bid him a hearty welcome.
Mr. FRANK LOCKWOOD: Mr. Attorney-General, Ladies and Gentlemen--It is
some little time ago that I was first asked whether I was prepared to
deliver a lecture. Now I am bound at the outset to confess to you that
lecturing has been and is very little in my way. I spent some three
years of my life at the University in avoiding lectures. But it came
about that in the constituency which I have the honour to represent, it
was suggested to me that it was necessary for me to give a lecture, and
it was further explained to me that it did not really very much matter as
to what I lectured about. I am bound to say there was a very great charm
to me in the idea of lecturing my constituents. I know it does sometimes
occur that constituents lecture their representatives, especially in
Scotland, and I was anxious, if I might, to have an opportunity of
lecturing those who had so many opportunities of reading, no doubt very
useful lectures to me. But the difficulty was to find a subject. My own
profession suggested itself to me as a fit topic for a lecture, but
unfortunately my profession is not a popular one. I do not know how it
is, but you never find a lawyer introduced either into a play or into a
three-volume novel except for the purpose of exposing him as a scoundrel
in the one, and having him kicked in the third act in the other. I do
not know how it is, but so it is. All the heroes of fiction either in
the drama or in the novel are found in the ranks--no, not in the ranks of
the army, but in the officers of the army, or in the clergy. It is so in
novels, it is so in dramas; Mr. Attorney-General, I believe it is so in
real life.
And so, looking about for a subject, being reminded, as I was, that the
subject of the law was unpopular, I turned--as I have often done in the
hour of trouble--I turned to my Dickens, and there I found that at any
rate in Dickens we have a great literary man who has been impartial in
his treatment of lawyers. He has seen both the good and the bad in them,
and it occurred to me that my lecture might take the form of dealing with
the lawyers of Dickens. I soon found that was too great a subject to be
dealt with within the short space which could be accorded to any
reasonable lecturer by any reasonable audience. I found that the novels
of Dickens abounded with lawyers, to use a perhaps apt expression. Having
regard to my profession, they fairly bristled with them, and so I
determined to take the lawyers of one of his books; and I chose as that
book "Pickwick"; and I chose as my title "The Law and the Lawyers of
'Pickwick.'"
Ladies and gentlemen, it is an extraordinary thing when we look at this
book, when we reflect that it contains within its pages no less than
three hundred and sixty characters, all drawn vividly and sharply, all
expressing different phases of human thought, and of human life, and
every one of them original; when we reflect that that book was written by
a young man of twenty-three years of age. In that book I found that he
portrayed with life-like fidelity constables, sheriffs' officers,
beadles, ushers, clerks, solicitors, barristers, and last, but by no
means least, a judge. Every incident of the early life of this great
author bore fruit in his writings. No portion of his struggles and
experiences seemed to have made a deeper impress on him than did those
early days, as he said himself in the character of David Copperfield:--
If it should appear from anything I may set down in this narrative
that I was a child of close observation, or that as a man I have a
strong memory of my childhood, I undoubtedly lay claim to both of
these characteristics.
His first introduction to the terrors of the law was an unspeakably sad
one--sad, indeed, to his affectionate and imaginative nature. "I know,"
he writes, "that we got on very badly with the butcher and baker, that
very often we had not too much for dinner, and that at last my father was
arrested." He never forgot--how could he, knowing what we know the lad
to have been?--often carrying messages to the dismal Marshalsea. "I
really believed," he wrote, "that they had broken my heart." His first
visit to his father he thus describes:--
My father was waiting for me in the lodge, and we went up to his room
(on the top story but one), and cried very much. And he told me, I
remember, to take warning by the Marshalsea, and to observe that if a
man had twenty pounds a year and spent nineteen pounds nineteen
shillings and sixpence, he would be happy, but that a shilling spent
the other way would make him wretched. I see the fire we sat before
now, with two bricks inside the rusted grate, one on each side, to
prevent its burning too many coals. Some other debtor shared the room
with him, who came in by-and-by; and as the dinner was a joint stock
repast I was sent up to "Captain Porter" in the room overhead, with
Mr. Dickens's compliments, and I was his son, and could he, Captain
P., lend me a knife and fork?
Captain Porter lent the knife and fork, with his compliments in
return. There was a very dirty lady in his room, and two wan girls,
his daughters, with shock heads of hair. I thought I should not have
liked to borrow Captain Porter's comb. The Captain himself was in the
last extremity of shabbiness; and if I could draw at all, I would draw
an accurate portrait of the old, old, brown great-coat he wore, with
no other coat below it. His whiskers were large. I saw his bed
rolled up in a corner; and what plates, and dishes, and pots he had on
a shelf; and I knew (God knows how!) that the two girls with the shock
heads were Captain Porter's natural children, and that the dirty lady
was not married to Captain P. My timid, wondering station on his
threshold was not occupied more than a couple of minutes, I daresay;
but I came down to the room below with all this as surely in my
knowledge as the knife and fork were in my hand.
When the stern necessities of the situation required the detention of Mr.
Pickwick in the old Fleet Prison, we have produced a lifelike
representation of the debtors' gaol; and I believe that the reforms which
have made such an institution a thing of the past are in a great part
owing to the vivid recollection which enabled him to point to the horrors
and injustice which were practised in the sacred name of law.
At the age of fifteen we find Dickens a bright, clever-looking youth in
the office of Mr. Edward Blackmore, attorney-at-law in Gray's Inn,
earning at first 13_s_. 6_d_. a week, afterwards advanced to 15_s_.
Eighteen months' experience of this sort enabled him in the pages of
Pickwick thus to describe lawyers' clerks:--
There are several grades of lawyers' clerks. There is the articled
clerk, who has paid a premium, and is an attorney in perspective, who
runs a tailor's bill, receives invitations to parties, knows a family
in Gower Street, and another in Tavistock Square; who goes out of town
every Long Vacation to see his father, who keeps live horses
innumerable; and who is, in short, the very aristocrat of clerks.
There is the salaried clerk--out of door, or in door, as the case may
be--who devotes the major part of his thirty shillings a week to his
personal pleasure and adornment, repairs half-price to the Adelphi
Theatre at least three times a week, dissipates majestically at the
cider cellars afterwards, and is a dirty caricature of the fashion
which expired six months ago. There is the middle-aged copying clerk,
with a large family, who is always shabby, and often drunk. And there
are the office lads in their first surtouts, who feel a befitting
contempt for boys at day-schools; club as they go home at night for
saveloys and porter: and think there's nothing like "life."
I fancy Dickens never rose above the status of office boy, and probably
as such wore his first surtout. We hear of him reporting later in the
Lord Chancellor's Court, probably for some daily paper; but beyond the
exception which I shall mention presently, we have no record of his
taking an active and direct part in any of those mysterious rites that go
to make up our legal procedure.
Upon this question of the opportunities he had for knowing in what way a
lawyer is trained, I must here acknowledge the debt of gratitude that I
am under to my very good friend Mr. Henry Fielding Dickens, one of her
Majesty's Counsel; and how rejoiced, Mr. Attorney-General, would that
father have been had he been able to see the position which his son has
won for himself. He wrote to me a long and kind letter, in which he gave
me further information as to his father's opportunity for observing
lawyers and their mode of living, and he told me that which I did not
know before, and which I think but few people knew before, namely, that
his father had kept a term or two at one of the Inns of Court. He had
eaten the five or six dinners which is part of the necessary legal
education for a barrister; and he had suffered in consequence the usual
pangs of indigestion. But it is not to that that I wish to allude to-
night. Dickens did that which I venture to think but few have done; for,
giving up all idea of pursuing a legal education, and finding that the
dinners did not agree with him, he got back from the Inns of Court some
of the money which he had deposited at that Inn. You are all familiar
with the process which is known as getting butter out of a dog's mouth; I
venture to think that that is an easy thing compared with getting money
back from an Inn of Court.
But that is not all that Mr. Dickens told me. He wrote down for me an
experience his father once had with the family solicitor, which, I think,
is worth your hearing. "My father's solicitor, Mr. Ouvry," he says, "was
a very well-known man, a thorough man of the world, and one in whose
breast reposed many of the secrets of the principal families of England.
On one occasion my father was in treaty for a piece of land at the back
of Gad's Hill, and it was proposed that there should be an interview with
the owner, a farmer, a very acute man of business, and a very hard nut to
crack. It was arranged that the interview with him should be at Gad's
Hill, and the solicitor came down for the purpose. My father and Ouvry
were sitting over their wine when the old man was announced. 'We had
better go in to him,' said my father. 'No, no,' said the astute lawyer.
'John,' said he, turning to the butler, 'show him into the study, and
take him a bottle of the old port.' Then turning to my father, 'A glass
of port will do him good; it will soften him.' After waiting about
twenty minutes they went into the study; the farmer was sitting bolt
upright in an arm-chair, stern and uncompromising; the bottle of port had
not been touched. Negotiations then proceeded very much in favour of the
farmer, and a bargain was struck. The old man then proceeded to turn his
attention to the port, and in a very few minutes he had finished the
bottle."
Mr. Dickens also told me of his father's knowledge of the legal
profession, and of the distinguished members of it. Though not himself,
he writes, of the legal profession, my father was very fond of lawyers.
He numbered among his intimate friends Lord Denman, Lord Campbell, Mr.
Justice Talfourd, Chief Justice Crockford; in fact, it is difficult to
name any eminent lawyer who could not claim acquaintance, at any rate,
with our great author. And he tells me, too, an anecdote relating to a
distinguished lawyer of the present day--Sir Henry Hawkins. We nearly
lost that great man, I think about the year 1851, on the occasion of some
theatricals at Knebworth. The play was _Every Man in his Humour_, and
Frank Stone, the artist, father of Mr. Marcus Stone, R.A., was allowed to
play a part with a sword. (Those of you who have had any experience of
theatrical matters know how dangerous it is to trust a sword to an
amateur.) He came up flourishing the sword, and if Mr. Hawkins had not
ducked we should have lost that eminent man; but he did it just in time.
Before I introduce you to the types of the judge, the counsel, the
solicitors, let me say something to you of the district in which lawyers
live, or rather in Dickens's time lived, and still do congregate. From
Gray's Inn in the north to the Temple in the south, from New Inn and
Clement's Inn in the west to Barnard's Inn in the east. I once lived
myself in Clement's Inn, and heard the chimes go, too; and I remember one
day I sat in my little room very near the sky (I do not know why it is
that poverty always gets as near the sky as possible; but I should think
it is because the general idea is that there is more sympathy in heaven
than elsewhere), and as I sat there a knock came at the door, and the
head of the porter of Clement's Inn presented itself to me. It was the
first of January, and he gravely gave me an orange and a lemon. He had a
basketful on his arm. I asked for some explanation. The only
information forthcoming was that from time immemorial every tenant on New
Year's Day was presented with an orange and a lemon, and that I was
expected, and that every tenant was expected, to give half-a-crown to the
porter. Further inquiries from the steward gave me this explanation,
that in old days when the river was not used merely as a sewer, the fruit
was brought up in barges and boats to the steps from below the bridge and
carried by porters through the Inn to Clare Market. Toll was at first
charged, and this toll was divided among the tenants whose convenience
was interfered with; hence the old lines beginning "Oranges and lemons
said the bells of St. Clement's." I have often wondered whether the rest
of the old catch had reason as well as rhyme.
Dickens loved the old Inns and squares. Traddles lived in Gray's Inn:
Traddles who was in love with "the dearest girl in the world"; Tom Pinch
and his sister used to meet near the fountain in the Middle Temple; Sir
John Chester had rooms in Paper Buildings; Pip lived in Garden Court at
the time of the collapse of Great Expectations; Mortimer Lightwood and
Eugene Wrayburn had their queer domestic partnership in the Temple. The
scene of the murderous plot in "Hunted Down" is also laid in the Temple,
"at the top of a lonely corner house overlooking the river," probably the
end house of King's Bench Walk. Mr. Grewgious, Herbert Pocket, and Joe
Gargery are associated with Staple Inn and Barnard's Inn.
Lincoln's Inn has not been forgotten; for though Mr. Tulkinghorn lived in
the Fields, yet Serjeant Snubbin was to be found in Lincoln's Inn Old
Square.
I never could understand why Dickens located the Serjeant in the realms
of Equity; but what should interest us more to-night is the fact that the
greater part of "Pickwick" was written in Furnival's Inn, which, as
Dickens describes it, was "a shady, quiet place echoing to the footsteps
of the stragglers there, and rather monotonous and gloomy on summer
evenings."
But to know the Inns as Dickens knew them, let us accompany Mr. Pickwick
to the Magpie and Stump in search of Mr. Lowten, Mr. Perker's clerk.
"Is Mr. Lowten here, ma'am?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Yes, he is, sir," replied the landlady. "Here, Charley, show the
gentleman in to Mr. Lowten."
"The gen'lm'n can't go in just now," said a shambling pot-boy, with a
red head, "'cos Mr. Lowten's singin' a comic song, and he'll put him
out. He'll be done d'rectly, sir."
Well, you know, respectable solicitors (clerks) don't sing comic songs at
public houses nowadays, but that is how Mr. Pickwick found Mr. Lowten.
"Would you like to join us?" said Mr. Lowten, when at length he had
finished his comic song and been introduced to Mr. Pickwick. And I am
very glad that Mr. Pickwick did join them, as he heard something of
the old Inns from old Jack Bamber.
"I have been to-night, gentlemen," said Mr. Pickwick, hoping to start
a subject which all the company could take a part in discussing--"I
have been to-night in a place which you all know very well, doubtless,
but which I have not been in for some years, and know very little of;
I mean Gray's Inn, gentlemen. Curious little nooks in a great place,
like London, these old Inns are."
"By Jove!" said the chairman, whispering across the table to Mr.
Pickwick, "you have hit upon something that one of us, at least, would
talk upon for ever. You'll draw old Jack Bamber out; he was never
heard to talk about anything else but the Inns, and he has lived alone
in them till he's half crazy."
"Aha!" said the old man, a brief description of whose manner and
appearance concluded the last chapter, "aha! who was talking about the
Inns?"
"I was, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick; "I was observing what singular old
places they are."
"_You_!" said the old man, contemptuously. "What do _you_ know of the
time when young men shut themselves up in those lonely rooms, and read
and read, hour after hour, and night after night, till their reason
wandered beneath their midnight studies; till their mental powers were
exhausted: till morning's light brought no freshness or health to
them; and they sank beneath the unnatural devotion of their youthful
energies to their dry old books? Coming down to a later time, and a
very different day, what do _you_ know of the gradual sinking beneath
consumption, or the quick wasting of fever--the grand results of
'life' and dissipation--which men have undergone in these same rooms?
How many vain pleaders for mercy, do you think, have turned away heart-
sick from the lawyer's office, to find a resting-place in the Thames,
or a refuge in the gaol? They are no ordinary houses, those. There
is not a panel in the old wainscoting but what, if it were endowed
with the powers of speech and memory, could start from the wall and
tell its tale of horror--the romance of life, sir, the romance of
life! Commonplace as they may seem now, I tell you they are strange
old places, and I would rather hear many a legend with a
terrific-sounding name than the true history of one old set of
chambers."
There was something so odd in the old man's sudden energy, and the
subject which had called it forth, that Mr. Pickwick was prepared with
no observation in reply; and the old man checking his impetuosity, and
resuming the leer, which had disappeared during his previous
excitement, said,--
"Look at them in another light; their most common-place and least
romantic. What fine places of slow torture they are! Think of the
needy man who has spent his all, beggared himself and pinched his
friends to enter the profession, which will never yield him a morsel
of bread. The waiting--the hope--the disappointment--the fear--the
misery--the poverty--the blight on his hopes and end to his career--the
suicide, perhaps, or the shabby, slipshod drunkard. Am I not right
about them?" And the old man rubbed his hands, and leered as if in
delight at having found another point of view in which to place his
favourite subject.
Mr. Pickwick eyed the old man with great curiosity, and the remainder
of the company smiled, and looked on in silence.
"Talk of your German universities," said the little old man. "Pooh!
pooh! there's romance enough at home without going half a mile for it;
only people never think of it.'"
"I never thought of the romance of this particular subject before,
certainly," said Mr. Pickwick, laughing.
"To be sure you didn't," said the little old man, "of course not. As
a friend of mine used to say to me, 'What is there in chambers in
particular?' 'Queer old places,' said I. 'Not at all,' said he.
'Lonely,' said I. 'Not a bit of it,' said he. He died one morning of
apoplexy, as he was going to open his outer door. Fell with his head
in his own letter-box, and there he lay for eighteen months. Everybody
thought he'd gone out of town.
"And how was he found out at last?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"The benchers determined to have his door broken open, as he hadn't
paid any rent for two years. So they did. Forced the lock; and a
very dusty skeleton in a blue coat, black knee-shorts, and silks, fell
forward in the arms of the porter who opened the door. Queer, that.
Rather, perhaps?" The little old man put his head more on one side,
and rubbed his hands with unspeakable glee.
"I know another case," said the little old man, when his chuckles had
in some degree subsided. "It occurred in Clifford's Inn. Tenant of a
top set--bad character--shut himself up in his bedroom closet, and
took a dose of arsenic. The steward thought he had run away; opened
the door and put a bill up. Another man came, took the chambers,
furnished them, and went to live there. Somehow or other he couldn't
sleep--always restless and uncomfortable. 'Odd,' says he. 'I'll make
the other room my bedchamber, and this my sitting-room.' He made the
change, and slept very well at night, but suddenly found that,
somehow, he couldn't read in the evening; he got nervous and
uncomfortable, and used to be always snuffing his candles and staring
about him. 'I can't make this out,' said he, when he came home from
the play one night, and was drinking a glass of cold grog, with his
back to the wall, in order that he mightn't be able to fancy there was
any one behind him--'I can't make it out,' said he; and just then his
eyes rested on the little closet that had been always locked up, and a
shudder ran through his whole frame from top to toe. 'I have felt
this strange feeling before,' said he. 'I can't help thinking there's
something wrong about that closet.' He made a strong effort, plucked
up his courage, shivered the lock with a blow or two of the poker,
opened the door, and there, sure enough, standing bolt upright in the
corner, was the last tenant, with a little bottle clasped firmly in
his hand, and his face--well!" As the little old man concluded he
looked round on the attentive faces of his wondering auditory with a
smile of grim delight.
"What strange things these are you tell us of, sir," said Mr.
Pickwick, minutely scanning the old man's countenance by the aid of
his glasses.
"Strange!" said the little old man. "Nonsense; you think them strange
because you know nothing about it. They are funny, but not uncommon."
"Funny!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, involuntarily.
"Yes, funny, are they not?" replied the little old man, with a
diabolical leer; and then, without pausing for an answer, he
continued,--
"I knew another man--let me see--forty years ago now--who took an old,
damp, rotten set of chambers in one of the most ancient Inns, that had
been shut up and empty for years and years before. There were lots of
old women's stories about the place, and it certainly was very far
from being a cheerful one; but he was poor, and the rooms were cheap,
and that would have been quite a sufficient reason for him, if they
had been ten times worse than they really were. He was obliged to
take some mouldering fixtures that were on the place, and, among the
rest, was a great lumbering wooden press for papers, with large glass
doors, and a green curtain inside; a pretty useless thing for him, for
he had no papers to put in it; and as to his clothes, he carried them
about with him, and that wasn't very hard work either. Well, he had
moved in all his furniture--it wasn't quite a truck-full--and had
sprinkled it about the room, so as to make the four chairs look as
much like a dozen as possible, and was sitting down before the fire at
night, drinking the first glass of two gallons of whisky he had
ordered on credit, wondering whether it would ever be paid for, and if
so, in how many years' time, when his eyes encountered the glass doors
of the wooden press. 'Ah,' says he, 'if I hadn't been obliged to take
that ugly article at the old broker's valuation I might have got
something comfortable for the money. I'll tell you what it is, old
fellow,' he said, speaking aloud to the press, having nothing else to
speak to, 'if it wouldn't cost more to break up your old carcase than
it would ever be worth afterwards, I'd have a fire out of you in less
than no time.' He had hardly spoken the words when a sound,
resembling a faint groan, appeared to issue from the interior of the
case. It startled him at first, but thinking, on a moment's
reflection, that it must be some young fellow in the next chamber, who
had been dining out, he put his feet on the fender, and raised the
poker to stir the fire. At that moment the sound was repeated, and
one of the glass doors slowly opening disclosed a pale and emaciated
figure in soiled and worn apparel standing erect in the press. The
figure was tall and thin, and the countenance expressive of care and
anxiety; but there was something in the hue of the skin, and gaunt and
unearthly appearance of the whole form, which no being of this world
was ever seen to wear. 'Who are you?' said the new tenant, turning
very pale, poising the poker in his hand, however, and taking a very
decent aim at the countenance of the figure. 'Who are you?' 'Don't
throw that poker at me,' replied the form. 'If you hurled it with
ever so sure an aim, it would pass through me without resistance, and
expend its force on the wood behind. I am a spirit.' 'And, pray,
what do you want here?' faltered the tenant. 'In this room,' replied
the apparition, 'my worldly ruin was worked, and I and my children
beggared. In this press the papers in a long, long suit, which
accumulated for years, were deposited. In this room, when I had died
of grief and long-deferred hope, two wily harpies divided the wealth
for which I had contested during a wretched existence, and of which,
at last, not one farthing was left for my unhappy descendants. I
terrified them from the spot, and since that day have prowled by
night--the only period at which I can re-visit the earth--about the
scenes of my long-protracted misery. This apartment is mine; leave it
to me.' 'If you insist on making your appearance here,' said the
tenant, who had time to collect his presence of mind during this prosy
statement of the ghost's, 'I shall give up possession with the
greatest pleasure; but I should like to ask you one question, if you
will allow me.' 'Say on,' said the apparition, sternly. 'Well,' said
the tenant, 'I don't apply the observation personally to you, because
it is equally applicable to most of the ghosts I ever heard of; but it
does appear to me somewhat inconsistent that when you have an
opportunity of visiting the fairest spots of earth--for I suppose
space is nothing to you--you should always return exactly to the very
places where you have been most miserable.' 'Egad, that's very true;
I never thought of that before,' said the ghost. 'You see, sir,'
pursued the tenant, 'this is a very uncomfortable room. From the
appearance of that press I should be disposed to say that it is not
wholly free from bugs; and I really think you might find much more
comfortable quarters, to say nothing of the climate of London, which
is extremely disagreeable.' 'You are very right, sir,' said the
ghost, politely; 'it never struck me till now; I'll try a change of
air directly.' In fact, he began to vanish as he spoke--his legs,
indeed, had quite disappeared. 'And if, sir,' said the tenant,
calling after him, 'if you _would_ have the goodness to suggest to the
other ladies and gentlemen who are now engaged in haunting old empty
houses, that they might be much more comfortable elsewhere, you will
confer a very great benefit on society.' 'I will,' replied the ghost;
'we must be dull fellows, very dull fellows indeed; I can't imagine
how we can have been so stupid.' With these words the spirit
disappeared; and what is rather remarkable," added the old man, with a
shrewd look round the table, "he never came back again."
But I must not delay longer over where the lawyers live. The lawyers of
Dickens furnish me with three types of the practising solicitor or
attorney, each admirable in its way. First, Mr. Perker, whose aid Mr.
Wardle seeks to release Miss Rachel Wardle from that scoundrel Jingle. He
is described as a little high-dried man, with a dark squeezed-up face,
and small restless black eyes, that kept winking and twinkling on each
side of his little inquisitive nose, as if they were playing a perpetual
game of peep-bo with that feature. He was dressed all in black, with
boots as shiny as his eyes, a low white neckcloth, and a clean shirt with
a frill to it. A gold watch-chain and seals depended from his fob. He
carried his black kid gloves _in_ his hands, and not _on_ them; and as he
spoke, thrust his wrists beneath his coat-tails, with the air of a man
who was in the habit of propounding some regular posers.
He lived at Montague Place, Russell Square, and had offices in Gray's
Inn, and appears to have had a large and very respectable business, into
the details of which we have not time to travel; but perhaps the
cleverest piece of business he ever did was when, as Agent to the
Honourable Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, he brought about the return
of that honourable gentleman as Member of Parliament. I suppose we have
all read the account of that memorable election, which is a pretty
accurate record of what went on at Eatanswill, and I am credibly informed
at many other places.
Mr. Pickwick and his companions, in their quest for experience, set out
for the excitement of a contested election, and found their way to the
agent's room.
"Ah--ah, my dear sir," said the little man, advancing to meet him;
"very happy to see you, my dear sir, very. Pray sit down. So you
have carried your intention into effect. You have come down here to
see an election--eh?"
Mr. Pickwick replied in the affirmative.
"Spirited contest, my dear sir," said the little man.
"I'm delighted to hear it," said Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his hands. "I
like to see sturdy patriotism, on whatever side it is called
forth;--and so it's a spirited contest?"
"Oh, yes," said the little man, "very much so indeed. We have opened
all the public-houses in the place, and left our adversary nothing but
the beer-shops--masterly stroke of policy that, my dear sir, eh?"
The little man smiled complacently, and took a large pinch of snuff.
"And what are the probabilities as to the result of the contest?"
inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Why, doubtful, my dear sir; rather doubtful as yet," replied the
little man. "Fizkin's people have got three-and-thirty voters in the
lock-up coach-house at the White Hart."
"In the coach-house!" said Mr. Pickwick, considerably astonished by
this second stroke of policy.
"They keep 'em locked up there till they want 'em," resumed the little
man. "The effect of that is, you see, to prevent our getting at them;
and even if we could, it would be of no use, for they keep them very
drunk on purpose. Smart fellow Fizkin's agent--very smart fellow
indeed."
Mr. Pickwick stared, but said nothing.
"We are pretty confident, though," said Mr. Perker, sinking his voice
almost to a whisper. "We had a little tea-party here last night--five-
and-forty women, my dear sir--and gave every one of 'em a green
parasol when she went away."
"A parasol?" said Mr. Pickwick.
"Fact, my dear sir, fact. Five-and-forty green parasols at seven and
sixpence a-piece. All women like finery--extraordinary the effect of
those parasols. Secured all their husbands, and half their
brothers--beat stockings, and flannel, and all that sort of thing
hollow. My idea, my dear sir, entirely. Hail, rain, or sunshine, you
can't walk half-a-dozen yards up the street without encountering half-
a-dozen green parasols."
On the day of the election the stable yard exhibited unequivocal
symptoms of the glory and strength of the Eatanswill Blues. There was
a regular army of blue flags, some with one handle, and some with two,
exhibiting appropriate devices, in golden characters four feet high,
and stout in proportion. There was a grand band of trumpets,
bassoons, and drums, marshalled four abreast, and earning their money,
if ever men did, especially the drum beaters, who were very muscular.
There were bodies of constables with blue staves, twenty committee men
with blue scarves, and a mob of voters with blue cockades. There were
electors on horseback and electors on foot. There was an open
carriage and four, for the Honourable Samuel Slumkey; and there were
four carriages and pair, for his friends and supporters; and the flags
were rustling, and the band was playing, and the constables were
swearing, and the twenty committee men were squabbling, and the mob
were shouting, and the horses were backing, and the post-boys were
perspiring; and everybody, and everything, then and there assembled,
was for the special use, behoof, honour, and renown, of the Honourable
Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, one of the candidates for the
representation of the Borough of Eatanswill, in the Commons House of
Parliament of the United Kingdom.
Loud and long were the cheers, and mighty was the rustling of one of
the blue flags, with "Liberty of the Press" inscribed thereon, when
the sandy head of Mr. Pott was discerned in one of the windows by the
mob beneath; and tremendous was the enthusiasm when the Honourable
Samuel Slumkey himself, in top boots, and a blue neckerchief, advanced
and seized the hand of the said Pott, and melodramatically testified
by gestures to the crowd his ineffaceable obligations to the
_Eatanswill Gazette_.
"Is everything ready?" said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey to Mr.
Perker.
"Everything, my dear sir," was the little man's reply.
"Nothing has been omitted, I hope?" said the Honourable Samuel
Slumkey.
"Nothing has been left undone, my dear sir--nothing whatever. There
are twenty washed men at the street door for you to shake hands with;
and six children in arms that you're to pat on the head, and inquire
the age of; be particular about the children, my dear sir,--it has
always a great effect, that sort of thing."
"I'll take care," said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey.
"And perhaps, my dear sir," said the cautious little man, "perhaps if
you _could_--I don't mean to say it's indispensable--but if you
_could_ manage to kiss one of 'em it would produce a very great
impression on the crowd."
"Wouldn't it have as good an effect if the proposer or seconder did
that?" said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey.
"Why, I am afraid it wouldn't," replied the agent; "if it were done by
yourself, my dear sir, I think it would make you very popular."
"Very well," said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, with a resigned air,
"then it must be done. That's all."
"Arrange the procession," cried the twenty committee men.
Amidst the cheers of the assembled throng, the band, and the
constables, and the committee men, and the voters, and the horsemen,
and the carriages took their places--each of the two-horse vehicles
being closely packed with as many gentlemen as could manage to stand
upright in it; and that assigned to Mr. Perker containing Mr.
Pickwick, Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass, and about half-a-dozen of the
committee beside.
There was a moment of awful suspense as the procession waited for the
Honourable Samuel Slumkey to step into his carriage. Suddenly the
crowd set up a great cheering.
"He has come out," said little Mr. Perker, greatly excited; the more
so as their position did not enable them to see what was going
forward.
Another cheer, much louder.
"He has shaken hands with the men," cried the little agent.
Another cheer, far more vehement.
"He has patted the babies on the head," said Mr. Perker, trembling
with anxiety.
A roar of applause that rent the air.
"He has kissed one of 'em!" exclaimed the delighted little man.
A second roar.
"He has kissed another," gasped the excited manager.
A third roar.
"He's kissing 'em all!" screamed the enthusiastic little gentleman.
And hailed by the deafening shouts of the multitude the procession
moved on.
Ladies and gentlemen, according to our modern ideas this account does not
do much to raise Mr. Perker in our estimation; but the best testimonial
to his memory is to be found in Mr. Pickwick's observation when, being at
last free from all his legal difficulties, he proposed to settle up with
his lawyer.
"Well, now," said Mr. Pickwick, "let me have a settlement with you."
"Of the same kind as the last?" inquired Perker, with another laugh,
for Mr. Pickwick had just been dismissing Messrs. Dodson and Fogg with
some strong language indeed.
"Not exactly," said Mr. Pickwick, drawing out his pocket-book, and
shaking the little man heartily by the hand; "I only mean a pecuniary
settlement. You have done me many acts of kindness that I can never
repay, and have no wish to repay, for I prefer continuing the
obligation."
With this preface the two friends dived into some very complicated
accounts and vouchers, which, having been duly displayed and gone
through by Perker, were at once discharged by Mr. Pickwick with many
professions of esteem and friendship.
Never was bill of costs so pleasantly discharged, though I know many
lawyers who have won the friendship and esteem of their clients.
The next type is that of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, of Freeman's Court,
Cornhill. The character of the genial partner is best described by one
of his clerks in a conversation overheard by Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller
while waiting for an interview with this celebrated firm.
"There was such a game with Fogg here this morning," said the man in
the brown coat, "while Jack was upstairs sorting the papers, and you
two were gone to the stamp-office. Fogg was down here opening the
letters when that chap as we issued the writ against at Camberwell,
you know, came in--what's his name again?"
"Ramsey," said the clerk who had spoken to Mr. Pickwick.
"Ah, Ramsey--a precious seedy-looking customer. 'Well, sir,' says old
Fogg, looking at him very fierce--you know his way--'well, sir, have
you come to settle?' 'Yes, I have, sir,' said Ramsey, putting his
hand in his pocket and bringing out the money; 'the debt's two pound
ten, and the costs three pound five, and here it is, sir,' and he
sighed like bricks as he lugged out the money, done up in a bit of
blotting-paper. Old Fogg looked first at the money, and then at him,
and then he coughed in his rum way, so that I knew something was
coming. 'You don't know there's a declaration filed, which increases
the costs materially, I suppose?' said Fogg. 'You don't say that,
sir,' said Ramsey, starting back; 'the time was only out last night,
sir.' 'I do say it, though,' said Fogg; 'my clerk's just gone to file
it. Hasn't Mr. Jackson gone to file that declaration in Bullman and
Ramsey, Mr. Wicks?' Of course I said yes, and then Fogg coughed
again, and looked at Ramsey. 'My God!' said Ramsey; 'and here have I
nearly driven myself mad, scraping this money together, and all to no
purpose.' 'None at all,' said Fogg, coolly; 'so you had better go
back and scrape some more together, and bring it here in time.' 'I
can't get it, by God!' said Ramsey, striking the desk with his fist.
'Don't bully me, sir,' said Fogg, getting into a passion on purpose.
'I am not bullying you, sir,' said Ramsey. 'You are,' said Fogg; 'get
out, sir; get out of this office, sir, and come back, sir, when you
know how to behave yourself.' Well, Ramsey tried to speak, but Fogg
wouldn't let him, so he put the money in his pocket and sneaked out.
The door was scarcely shut when old Fogg turned round to me, with a
sweet smile on his face, and drew the declaration out of his coat
pocket. 'Here, Wicks,' said Fogg, 'take a cab and go down to the
Temple as quick as you can and file that. The costs are quite safe,
for he's a steady man with a large family, at a salary of five-and-
twenty shillings a week; and if he gives us a warrant of attorney, as
he must in the end, I know his employers will see it paid, so we may
as well get all we can out of him, Mr. Wicks; it's a Christian act to
do it, Mr. Wicks, for with his large family and small income he'll be
all the better for a good lesson against getting into debt--won't he,
Mr. Wicks, won't he?' and he smiled so good-naturedly as he went away
that it was delightful to see him. 'He is a capital man of business,'
said Wicks, in a tone of the deepest admiration; 'capital, isn't he?'"
Mr. Fogg, we are told, was an elderly, pimply-faced, vegetable diet sort
of man, in a black coat, and dark-mixtured trousers; and Mr. Dodson was a
plump, portly, stern-looking man, with a loud voice. And it was from
these worthies that Mr. Pickwick had received a letter dated the 28th of
August, 1827.
FREEMAN'S COURT, CORNHILL.
_Bardell against Pickwick_.
SIR,--Having been instructed by Mrs. Martha Bardell to commence an
action against you for a breach of promise of marriage, for which the
plaintiff lays her damages at fifteen hundred pounds, we beg to inform
you that a writ has been issued against you in this suit in the Court
of Common Pleas, and request to know, by return of post, the name of
your attorney in London, who will accept service thereof.
We are, Sir,
Your obedient servants,
DODSON AND FOGG.
MR. SAMUEL PICKWICK.
I am bound to say that Mr. Pickwick did not conduct himself with his
usual dignity on the occasion of his interview on the subject of this
letter. The two sharp practitioners had certainly commenced an action
against him on grounds which, though definite, were wholly inadequate.
But in this alone there was nothing to justify the very violent language
of Mr. Pickwick.
"Very well, gentlemen, very well," said Mr. Pickwick, rising in person
and wrath at the same time; "you shall hear from my solicitor,
gentlemen."
"We shall be very happy to do so," said Fogg, rubbing his hands.
"Very," said Dodson, opening the door.
"And before I go, gentlemen," said the excited Mr. Pickwick, turning
round on the landing, "permit me to say, that of all the disgraceful
and rascally proceedings--"
"Stay, sir, stay," interposed Dodson, with great politeness. "Mr.
Jackson! Mr. Wicks!"
"Sir," said the two clerks, appearing at the bottom of the stairs.
"I merely want you to hear what this gentleman says," replied Dodson.
"Pray go on, sir--disgraceful and rascally proceedings, I think you
said?"
"I did," said Mr. Pickwick, thoroughly roused. "I said, sir, that of
all the disgraceful and rascally proceedings that ever were attempted
this is the most so. I repeat it, sir."
"You hear that, Mr. Wicks?" said Dodson.
"You won't forget these expressions, Mr. Jackson?" said Fogg.
"Perhaps you would like to call us swindlers, sir," said Dodson. "Pray
do, sir, if you feel disposed; now pray do, sir."
"I do," said Mr. Pickwick. "You _are_ swindlers."
"Very good," said Dodson. "You can hear down there, I hope, Mr.
Wicks?"
"Oh, yes, sir," said Wicks.
"You had better come up a step or two higher if you can't," added Mr.
Fogg. "Go on, sir; do go on. You had better call us thieves, sir; or
perhaps you would like to assault one of us. Pray do it, sir, if you
would; we will not make the slightest resistance. Pray do it, sir."
As Fogg put himself very temptingly within the reach of Mr. Pickwick's
clenched fist there is little doubt that gentleman would have complied
with his earnest entreaty but for the interposition of Sam, who,
hearing the dispute, emerged from the office, mounted the stairs, and
seized his master by the arm.
"You just come avay," said Mr. Weller. "Battledore and shuttlecock's
a wery good game, when you ain't the shuttlecock and two lawyers the
battledores, in which case it gets too excitin' to be pleasant. Come
avay, sir. If you want to ease your mind by blowing up somebody come
out into the court and blow up me; but it's rayther too expensive work
to be carried on here."
With that good advice Mr. Weller took Mr. Pickwick away from the lawyers'
office. But before we say anything about the trial itself let me
introduce to you another solicitor not so well known as either Perker or
Dodson and Fogg, but to my mind the most interesting as he certainly is
the most humorous.
Mr. Pell had the honour of being the legal adviser of Mr. Weller, Senior.
The latter gentleman always stoutly maintained that if Mr. Pickwick had
had the services of Mr. Pell, and had established an _alibi_, the great
case of Bardell against Pickwick would have been decided otherwise. Mr.
Pell practised in the Insolvency Court. He "was a fat, flabby, pale man,
in a surtout which looked green one moment, and brown the next, with a
velvet collar of the same chameleon tints. His forehead was narrow, his
face wide, his head large, and his nose all on one side, as if Nature,
indignant with the propensities she observed in him at his birth, had
given it an angry tweak which it had never recovered. Being short-necked
and asthmatic, however, he respired principally through this feature; so,
perhaps, what it wanted in ornament, it made up in usefulness."
Mr. Pell had successfully piloted Mr. Weller through the Insolvency
Court, and his services were sought to carry out the process by which Sam
Weller became a voluntary prisoner in the Fleet at the suit of his
obdurate parent.
"The late Lord Chancellor, gentlemen, was very fond of me," said Mr.
Pell.
"And wery creditable in him, too," interposed Mr. Weller.
"Hear, hear," assented Mr. Pell's client. "Why shouldn't he be?"
"Ah, why, indeed!" said a very red-faced man, who had said nothing
yet, and who looked extremely unlikely to say anything more. "Why
shouldn't he?"
A murmur of assent ran through the company.
"I remember, gentlemen," said Mr. Pell, "dining with him on one
occasion. There was only us two, but everything as splendid as if
twenty people had been expected--the great seal on a dumb-waiter at
his right, and a man in a bag-wig and suit of armour guarding the mace
with a drawn sword and silk stockings--which is perpetually done,
gentlemen, night and day; when he said, 'Pell,' he said, 'no false
delicacy, Pell. You're a man of talent; you can get anybody through
the Insolvent Court, Pell; and your country should be proud of you.'
Those were his very words. 'My lord,' I said, 'you flatter me.'
'Pell,' he said, 'if I do I'm damned.'"
"Did he say that?" inquired Mr. Weller.
"He did," replied Pell.
"Vell, then," said Mr. Weller, "I say Parliament ought to ha' took it
up; and if he'd been a poor man they _would_ ha' done it."
"But, my dear friend," argued Mr. Pell, "it was in confidence."
"In what?" said Mr. Weller.
"In confidence."
"Oh! wery good," replied Mr. Weller, after a little reflection. "If
he damned hisself in confidence, o' course that was another thing."
"Of course it was," said Mr. Pell. "The distinction's obvious, you
will perceive."
"Alters the case entirely," said Mr. Weller. "Go on, sir."
"No, I will not go on, sir," said Mr. Pell, in a low and serious tone.
"You have reminded me, sir, that this conversation was private--private
and confidential, gentlemen. Gentlemen, I am a professional man. It
may be that I am a good deal looked up to in my profession--it may be
that I am not. Most people know. I say nothing. Observations have
already been made in this room injurious to the reputation of my noble
friend. You will excuse me, gentlemen; I was imprudent. I feel that
I have no right to mention this matter without his concurrence. Thank
you, sir; thank you."
Thus delivering himself, Mr. Pell thrust his hands into his pockets,
and, frowning grimly around, rattled three-halfpence with terrible
determination.
We hear also of Mrs. Pell.
Mrs. Pell was a tall figure, a splendid woman, with a noble shape, and
a nose, gentlemen, formed to command, gentlemen, and be majestic. She
was very much attached to me--very much--highly connected, too. Her
mother's brother, gentlemen, failed for eight hundred pounds, as a law
stationer.