_A DICKENSIAN DREAM AT PLYMOUTH._
"Boy!" cried Mr. SOLOMON PELL, in the tones of a severe Stentor. The
small Boy with the Big Blue Bag responded promptly with a deferential
"Yussir."
"Listen!" pursued Mr. PELL, with dignity. And he read with emphatic
elocution from some closely-printed columns in the _Times_,
interjecting exclamatory comments from time to time.
[Illustration]
"'When we remember the importance of the work daily intrusted to
Solicitors (_Important, indeed!_), and the amount of industry (_Quite
so!_), judgment (_Exactly!_), learning (_I believe you!_), and
integrity (_Why, cert'n'ly!_), it involves, and the responsibility
which is necessarily incurred by them in advising, not only in public
and political matters, but in all the details of private transactions,
the dealings with property, and matters affecting not only the
purses, but the honour and reputation (_Ah!!!_), of the members of the
community (_Well, and pointedly put, Boy!_), and when we remember,
in addition, what a powerful and (on the whole) respected body they
are (_I should think so!_)--a body, too, consisting not merely of a
"fortuitous concourse of atoms" (_I should say not, indeed! Fancy
me being a mere "atom," or fortuitous!_) ("Please, Sir, I _can't_;"
interjected the Boy with the Bag)--each going his own way, and seeking
his own interest, but bound together, as the great bulk of its members
are, and organised by means of this great Society, and of the kindred
societies scattered over the country, and acting in harmony with
it--it seems most surprising (_Surprising? Astounding, Sir!_) that
so little in the way of dignity and reward can be looked forward to
by the Solicitor, however honestly, ably, and conscientiously he may
perform the arduous and responsible duties of his profession.'"
Mr. PELL here paused, and panted, like one who comes to the surface
after a deep-sea dive. Then he pursued:--
"There, Boy! _That_ is from the opening speech of the President of
the Incorporated Law Society at Plymouth! And excellent it is,--though
perhaps a little long-winded. As a mere sentence, a sinuous sequence
of words, a 'breather' in syllables, an exercise in adjectives,
it cuts the record and takes the cake. But look, Boy, at the
sound common-sense of it! Since the famous, if flattering,
remarks--concerning Me!--of my late friend, the ex-Lord-Chancellor,
who said--nay, swore, that 'the country ought to be proud of me,'
I have met with no observations concerning our Profession which so
commend themselves to my judgment."
"Oh, please Sir, yussir, right you are, Sir!" jerked out the Boy with
the Bag.
"Right Mr. MELMOTH WALTERS is," corrected Mr. PELL, severely. "I knew
it would come, Boy, and it _has_. Though it has taken time, it has
taken time. Listen yet further, and don't fidget with that Bag!
"'I contend (_He contends!_) that it is the duty of the State to
provide due recognition of merit in the ranks of a Profession which
has been set apart (_Dedicated, as it were, like a--like a--sort of a
scapegoat--ahem! no, not that, exactly, either, but--a--you know, Boy,
you know!_), and regulated (_Just a leetle too much, perhaps_) by it,
from which so much is expected, and to which so much is confided.'
"Splendid! My sentiments to a touch! Sir, that Blue Bag is a Temple of
Sacred Secrets, and _should_ be a shrine of Open Honour. (_Must make
a note of that for my next speech at the Forum!_) 'Sir SOLOMON PELL'
would not sound badly, eh, Boy?"
"Oh, please Sir, yussir--I mean, no, Sir, fur from it, Sir--_fur_ from
it!"
"And yet the Bar gets all the honours, and most of the emoluments,
whilst the Blue Bag, too often, is sent empty away. Is it just? Is it
judicious? What says once again the Plymouth oracle?
"'I ask whether it is wise or prudent on the part of the State to
leave unnoticed and disregarded the higher aspirations and ambitions
of a large and useful and powerful class of the community?'
"No, Sir--a thousand times no! Let our 'higher aspirations' be
considered. _Some_ of us have souls above six-and-eightpence, and
yearnings beyond bills of costs. Let 'em be gratified, Boy!"
"Oh, please Sir, yussir: let 'em! Immediately--if not sooner, Sir!"
"_By_ the State--with a capital S! If a soldier may carry a Field
Marshal's _bâton_ in his knapsack, why, _why_ should not a Solicitor
carry a Baronetcy in his Blue Bag?"
"And Ekker answers, 'Why?' Sir."
"I beg your pardon, Boy, it is the _Times_, not the _Echo_, which so
answers. The _Times_ says:--
"'They (Solicitors) are the guardians of our dearest (yes, our
_dearest_) interests, the confidants of family secrets, the arbiters
in family controversies, and not infrequently the custodians of the
honour and the good name of their clients.'
"Quite so. Why, Boy, did we let out the Secrets of the Blue Bag, the
contents of Old Nick's Sack, which that 'stupid old snuff-colour'd son
of a gun,' Saint Medard 'cut into slits on the Red Sea shore' would be
_nothing_ to 'em!"
"Nothink at all, Sir; nothink, wotsomedever!"
"No matter--a time will come, Boy! In Mr. WILLIAM MELMOTH WALTERS's
speech I see the dawn of it.
"'The Profession, it is true, does not receive in any great measure
those official dignities and rewards which the President claims on
its behalf, nor are we quite confident that, if it did, the fact would
increase the confidence or the respect of its clients.'
"Well, the _Times_ may not be 'quite confident.' _I_ am! And so would
the clients be, I'm sure. Remove that Blue Bag, Boy! Wonder what _Mr.
Pickwick's_ opinion of Mr. WALTERS's speech would have been, and that
of the _Wellers_, father and son! [_Sings._
"I'll place it in the hand of my Solicitors;
I'll have this thing put right.
We _may_ make money,
But--isn't it funny!--
Few 'dignities' Solicitors delight!"
[_Left considering it._
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