Scattered about, in various holes and corners of the Temple, arecertain dark and dirty chambers, in and out of which, all the morningin vacation, and half the evening too in term time, there may beseen constantly hurrying with bundles of papers under their arms, andprotruding from their pockets, an almost uninterrupted succession oflawyers' clerks. There are several grades of lawyers' clerks. Thereis the articled clerk, who has paid a premium, and is an attorney inperspective, who runs a tailor's bill, receives invitations to parties,knows a family in Gower Street, and another in Tavistock Square; whogoes out of town every long vacation to see his father, who keeps livehorses 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 maybe--who devotes the major part of his thirty shillings a week to hisPersonal pleasure and adornments, repairs half-price to the AdelphiTheatre at least three times a week, dissipates majestically at thecider cellars afterwards, and is a dirty caricature of the fashion whichexpired six months ago. There is the middle-aged copying clerk, with alarge family, who is always shabby, and often drunk. And there are theoffice lads in their first surtouts, who feel a befitting contempt forboys at day-schools, club as they go home at night, for saveloys andporter, and think there's nothing like 'life.' There are varieties ofthe genus, too numerous to recapitulate, but however numerous theymay be, they are all to be seen, at certain regulated business hours,hurrying to and from the places we have just mentioned.

These sequestered nooks are the public offices of the legal profession,where writs are issued, judgments signed, declarations filed, andnumerous other ingenious machines put in motion for the torture andtorment of His Majesty's liege subjects, and the comfort and emolumentof the practitioners of the law. They are, for the most part,low-roofed, mouldy rooms, where innumerable rolls of parchment, whichhave been perspiring in secret for the last century, send forth anagreeable odour, which is mingled by day with the scent of the dry-rot,and by night with the various exhalations which arise from damp cloaks,festering umbrellas, and the coarsest tallow candles.

About half-past seven o'clock in the evening, some ten days or afortnight after Mr. Pickwick and his friends returned to London, therehurried into one of these offices, an individual in a brown coat andbrass buttons, whose long hair was scrupulously twisted round the rim ofhis napless hat, and whose soiled drab trousers were so tightly strappedover his Blucher boots, that his knees threatened every moment to startfrom their concealment. He produced from his coat pockets a long andnarrow strip of parchment, on which the presiding functionary impressedan illegible black stamp. He then drew forth four scraps of paper,of similar dimensions, each containing a printed copy of the strip ofparchment with blanks for a name; and having filled up the blanks, putall the five documents in his pocket, and hurried away.

The man in the brown coat, with the cabalistic documents in his pocket,was no other than our old acquaintance Mr. Jackson, of the house ofDodson & Fogg, Freeman's Court, Cornhill. Instead of returning to theoffice whence he came, however, he bent his steps direct to Sun Court,and walking straight into the George and Vulture, demanded to knowwhether one Mr. Pickwick was within.

'Call Mr. Pickwick's servant, Tom,' said the barmaid of the George andVulture.

'Don't trouble yourself,' said Mr. Jackson. 'I've come on business. Ifyou'll show me Mr. Pickwick's room I'll step up myself.'

'What name, Sir?' said the waiter.

'Jackson,' replied the clerk.

The waiter stepped upstairs to announce Mr. Jackson; but Mr. Jacksonsaved him the trouble by following close at his heels, and walking intothe apartment before he could articulate a syllable.

Mr. Pickwick had, that day, invited his three friends to dinner; theywere all seated round the fire, drinking their wine, when Mr. Jacksonpresented himself, as above described.

'How de do, sir?' said Mr. Jackson, nodding to Mr. Pickwick.

That gentleman bowed, and looked somewhat surprised, for the physiognomyof Mr. Jackson dwelt not in his recollection.

'I have called from Dodson and Fogg's,' said Mr. Jackson, in anexplanatory tone.

Mr. Pickwick roused at the name. 'I refer you to my attorney, Sir; Mr.Perker, of Gray's Inn,' said he. 'Waiter, show this gentleman out.'

'Beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick,' said Jackson, deliberately depositinghis hat on the floor, and drawing from his pocket the strip ofparchment. 'But personal service, by clerk or agent, in these cases, youknow, Mr. Pickwick--nothing like caution, sir, in all legal forms--eh?'

Here Mr. Jackson cast his eye on the parchment; and, resting his handson the table, and looking round with a winning and persuasive smile,said, 'Now, come; don't let's have no words about such a little matteras this. Which of you gentlemen's name's Snodgrass?'

At this inquiry, Mr. Snodgrass gave such a very undisguised and palpablestart, that no further reply was needed.

'Ah! I thought so,' said Mr. Jackson, more affably than before. 'I've alittle something to trouble you with, Sir.'

'Me!'exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass.

'It's only a subpoena in Bardell and Pickwick on behalf of theplaintiff,' replied Jackson, singling out one of the slips of paper, andproducing a shilling from his waistcoat pocket. 'It'll come on, in thesettens after Term: fourteenth of Febooary, we expect; we've marked it aspecial jury cause, and it's only ten down the paper. That's yours, Mr.Snodgrass.' As Jackson said this, he presented the parchment before theeyes of Mr. Snodgrass, and slipped the paper and the shilling into hishand.

Mr. Tupman had witnessed this process in silent astonishment, whenJackson, turning sharply upon him, said--

'I think I ain't mistaken when I say your name's Tupman, am I?'

Mr. Tupman looked at Mr. Pickwick; but, perceiving no encouragement inthat gentleman's widely-opened eyes to deny his name, said--

'Yes, my name is Tupman, Sir.'

'And that other gentleman's Mr. Winkle, I think?' said Jackson. Mr.Winkle faltered out a reply in the affirmative; and both gentlemen wereforthwith invested with a slip of paper, and a shilling each, by thedexterous Mr. Jackson.

'Now,' said Jackson, 'I'm afraid you'll think me rather troublesome, butI want somebody else, if it ain't inconvenient. I have Samuel Weller'sname here, Mr. Pickwick.'

'Send my servant here, waiter,' said Mr. Pickwick. The waiter retired,considerably astonished, and Mr. Pickwick motioned Jackson to a seat.

There was a painful pause, which was at length broken by the innocentdefendant. 'I suppose, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, his indignation risingwhile he spoke--'I suppose, Sir, that it is the intention of youremployers to seek to criminate me upon the testimony of my own friends?'

Mr. Jackson struck his forefinger several times against the left side ofhis nose, to intimate that he was not there to disclose the secrets ofthe prison house, and playfully rejoined--

'Not knowin', can't say.'

'For what other reason, Sir,' pursued Mr. Pickwick, 'are these subpoenasserved upon them, if not for this?'

'Very good plant, Mr. Pickwick,' replied Jackson, slowly shaking hishead. 'But it won't do. No harm in trying, but there's little to be gotout of me.'

Here Mr. Jackson smiled once more upon the company, and, applying hisleft thumb to the tip of his nose, worked a visionary coffee-mill withhis right hand, thereby performing a very graceful piece of pantomime(then much in vogue, but now, unhappily, almost obsolete) which wasfamiliarly denominated 'taking a grinder.'

'No, no, Mr. Pickwick,' said Jackson, in conclusion; 'Perker's peoplemust guess what we've served these subpoenas for. If they can't, theymust wait till the action comes on, and then they'll find out.' Mr.Pickwick bestowed a look of excessive disgust on his unwelcome visitor,and would probably have hurled some tremendous anathema at the heads ofMessrs. Dodson & Fogg, had not Sam's entrance at the instant interruptedhim.

'Samuel Weller?' said Mr. Jackson, inquiringly.

'Vun o' the truest things as you've said for many a long year,' repliedSam, in a most composed manner.

'Here's a subpoena for you, Mr. Weller,' said Jackson.

'What's that in English?' inquired Sam.

'Here's the original,' said Jackson, declining the required explanation.

'Which?' said Sam.

'This,' replied Jackson, shaking the parchment.

'Oh, that's the 'rig'nal, is it?' said Sam. 'Well, I'm wery glad I'veseen the 'rig'nal, 'cos it's a gratifyin' sort o' thing, and eases vun'smind so much.'

'And here's the shilling,' said Jackson. 'It's from Dodson and Fogg's.'

'And it's uncommon handsome o' Dodson and Fogg, as knows so little ofme, to come down vith a present,' said Sam. 'I feel it as a wery highcompliment, sir; it's a wery honorable thing to them, as they knows howto reward merit werever they meets it. Besides which, it's affectin' toone's feelin's.'

As Mr. Weller said this, he inflicted a little friction on his righteyelid, with the sleeve of his coat, after the most approved manner ofactors when they are in domestic pathetics.

Mr. Jackson seemed rather puzzled by Sam's proceedings; but, as he hadserved the subpoenas, and had nothing more to say, he made a feint ofputting on the one glove which he usually carried in his hand, for thesake of appearances; and returned to the office to report progress.

Mr. Pickwick slept little that night; his memory had received a verydisagreeable refresher on the subject of Mrs. Bardell's action. Hebreakfasted betimes next morning, and, desiring Sam to accompany him,set forth towards Gray's Inn Square.

'Sam!' said Mr. Pickwick, looking round, when they got to the end ofCheapside.

'Sir?' said Sam, stepping up to his master.

'Which way?' 'Up Newgate Street.'

Mr. Pickwick did not turn round immediately, but looked vacantly inSam's face for a few seconds, and heaved a deep sigh.

'What's the matter, sir?' inquired Sam.

'This action, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'is expected to come on, on thefourteenth of next month.' 'Remarkable coincidence that 'ere, sir,'replied Sam.

'Why remarkable, Sam?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Walentine's day, sir,' responded Sam; 'reg'lar good day for a breach o'promise trial.'

Mr. Weller's smile awakened no gleam of mirth in his master'scountenance. Mr. Pickwick turned abruptly round, and led the way insilence.

They had walked some distance, Mr. Pickwick trotting on before, plungedin profound meditation, and Sam following behind, with a countenanceexpressive of the most enviable and easy defiance of everything andeverybody, when the latter, who was always especially anxious to impartto his master any exclusive information he possessed, quickened his paceuntil he was close at Mr. Pickwick's heels; and, pointing up at a housethey were passing, said--

'Wery nice pork-shop that 'ere, sir.'

'Yes, it seems so,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Celebrated sassage factory,' said Sam.

'Is it?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Is it!' reiterated Sam, with some indignation; 'I should raytherthink it was. Why, sir, bless your innocent eyebrows, that's where themysterious disappearance of a 'spectable tradesman took place four yearsago.'

'You don't mean to say he was burked, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick, lookinghastily round.

'No, I don't indeed, sir,' replied Mr. Weller, 'I wish I did; far worsethan that. He was the master o' that 'ere shop, sir, and the inwentoro' the patent-never-leavin'-off sassage steam-ingin, as 'ud swaller up apavin' stone if you put it too near, and grind it into sassages as easyas if it was a tender young babby. Wery proud o' that machine he was, asit was nat'ral he should be, and he'd stand down in the celler a-lookin'at it wen it was in full play, till he got quite melancholy with joy. Awery happy man he'd ha' been, Sir, in the procession o' that 'ere inginand two more lovely hinfants besides, if it hadn't been for his wife,who was a most owdacious wixin. She was always a-follerin' him about,and dinnin' in his ears, till at last he couldn't stand it no longer."I'll tell you what it is, my dear," he says one day; "if you persewerein this here sort of amusement," he says, "I'm blessed if I don't goaway to 'Merriker; and that's all about it." "You're a idle willin,"says she, "and I wish the 'Merrikins joy of their bargain." Arter whichshe keeps on abusin' of him for half an hour, and then runs into thelittle parlour behind the shop, sets to a-screamin', says he'll be thedeath on her, and falls in a fit, which lasts for three good hours--oneo' them fits wich is all screamin' and kickin'. Well, next mornin', thehusband was missin'. He hadn't taken nothin' from the till--hadn't evenput on his greatcoat--so it was quite clear he warn't gone to 'Merriker.Didn't come back next day; didn't come back next week; missis hadbills printed, sayin' that, if he'd come back, he should be forgiveneverythin' (which was very liberal, seein' that he hadn't done nothin'at all); the canals was dragged, and for two months arterwards, wenevera body turned up, it was carried, as a reg'lar thing, straight off tothe sassage shop. Hows'ever, none on 'em answered; so they gave outthat he'd run away, and she kep' on the bis'ness. One Saturday night, alittle, thin, old gen'l'm'n comes into the shop in a great passion andsays, "Are you the missis o' this here shop?" "Yes, I am," says she."Well, ma'am," says he, "then I've just looked in to say that me andmy family ain't a-goin' to be choked for nothin'; and more than that,ma'am," he says, "you'll allow me to observe that as you don't use theprimest parts of the meat in the manafacter o' sassages, I'd think you'dfind beef come nearly as cheap as buttons." "As buttons, Sir!" says she."Buttons, ma'am," says the little, old gentleman, unfolding a bit ofpaper, and showin' twenty or thirty halves o' buttons. "Nice seasonin'for sassages, is trousers' buttons, ma'am." "They're my husband'sbuttons!" says the widder beginnin' to faint, "What!" screams the littleold gen'l'm'n, turnin' wery pale. "I see it all," says the widder; "ina fit of temporary insanity he rashly converted hisself into sassages!"And so he had, Sir,' said Mr. Weller, looking steadily into Mr.Pickwick's horror-stricken countenance, 'or else he'd been draw'd intothe ingin; but however that might ha' been, the little, old gen'l'm'n,who had been remarkably partial to sassages all his life, rushed out o'the shop in a wild state, and was never heerd on arterwards!'

The relation of this affecting incident of private life brought masterand man to Mr. Perker's chambers. Lowten, holding the door half open,was in conversation with a rustily-clad, miserable-looking man, in bootswithout toes and gloves without fingers. There were traces of privationand suffering--almost of despair--in his lank and care-worn countenance;he felt his poverty, for he shrank to the dark side of the staircase asMr. Pickwick approached.

'It's very unfortunate,' said the stranger, with a sigh.

'Very,' said Lowten, scribbling his name on the doorpost with his pen,and rubbing it out again with the feather. 'Will you leave a message forhim?'

'When do you think he'll be back?' inquired the stranger.

'Quite uncertain,' replied Lowten, winking at Mr. Pickwick, as thestranger cast his eyes towards the ground.

'You don't think it would be of any use my waiting for him?' said thestranger, looking wistfully into the office.

'Oh, no, I'm sure it wouldn't,' replied the clerk, moving a little moreinto the centre of the doorway. 'He's certain not to be back this week,and it's a chance whether he will be next; for when Perker once gets outof town, he's never in a hurry to come back again.'

'Out of town!' said Mr. Pickwick; 'dear me, how unfortunate!'

'Don't go away, Mr. Pickwick,' said Lowten, 'I've got a letter for you.'The stranger, seeming to hesitate, once more looked towards the ground,and the clerk winked slyly at Mr. PickwiCK, as if to intimate that someexquisite piece of humour was going forward, though what it was Mr.Pickwick could not for the life of him divine. 'Step in, Mr. Pickwick,'said Lowten. 'Well, will you leave a message, Mr. Watty, or will youcall again?'

'Ask him to be so kind as to leave out word what has been done in mybusiness,' said the man; 'for God's sake don't neglect it, Mr. Lowten.'

'No, no; I won't forget it,' replied the clerk. 'Walk in, Mr. Pickwick.Good-morning, Mr. Watty; it's a fine day for walking, isn't it?' Seeingthat the stranger still lingered, he beckoned Sam Weller to follow hismaster in, and shut the door in his face.

'There never was such a pestering bankrupt as that since the worldbegan, I do believe!' said Lowten, throwing down his pen with the air ofan injured man. 'His affairs haven't been in Chancery quite four yearsyet, and I'm d--d if he don't come worrying here twice a week. Step thisway, Mr. Pickwick. Perker IS in, and he'll see you, I know. Devilishcold,' he added pettishly, 'standing at that door, wasting one'stime with such seedy vagabonds!' Having very vehemently stirred aparticularly large fire with a particularly small poker, the clerk ledthe way to his principal's private room, and announced Mr. Pickwick.

'Ah, my dear Sir,' said little Mr. Perker, bustling up from his chair.'Well, my dear sir, and what's the news about your matter, eh? Anythingmore about our friends in Freeman's Court? They've not been sleeping, Iknow that. Ah, they're very smart fellows; very smart, indeed.'

As the little man concluded, he took an emphatic pinch of snuff, as atribute to the smartness of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg.

'They are great scoundrels,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Aye, aye,' said the little man; 'that's a matter of opinion, youknow, and we won't dispute about terms; because of course you can't beexpected to view these subjects with a professional eye. Well, we'vedone everything that's necessary. I have retained Serjeant Snubbin.'

'Is he a good man?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Good man!' replied Perker; 'bless your heart and soul, my dear Sir,Serjeant Snubbin is at the very top of his profession. Gets treble thebusiness of any man in court--engaged in every case. You needn't mentionit abroad; but we say--we of the profession--that Serjeant Snubbin leadsthe court by the nose.'

The little man took another pinch of snuff as he made thiscommunication, and nodded mysteriously to Mr. Pickwick.

'They have subpoenaed my three friends,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Ah! of course they would,' replied Perker. 'Important witnesses; sawyou in a delicate situation.'

'But she fainted of her own accord,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'She threwherself into my arms.'

'Very likely, my dear Sir,' replied Perker; 'very likely and verynatural. Nothing more so, my dear Sir, nothing. But who's to prove it?'

'They have subpoenaed my servant, too,' said Mr. Pickwick, quitting theother point; for there Mr. Perker's question had somewhat staggered him.

'Sam?' said Perker.

Mr. Pickwick replied in the affirmative.

'Of course, my dear Sir; of course. I knew they would. I could havetold you that, a month ago. You know, my dear Sir, if you WILL take themanagement of your affairs into your own hands after entrusting them toyour solicitor, you must also take the consequences.' Here Mr. Perkerdrew himself up with conscious dignity, and brushed some stray grains ofsnuff from his shirt frill.

'And what do they want him to prove?' asked Mr. Pickwick, after two orthree minutes' silence.

'That you sent him up to the plaintiff 's to make some offer of acompromise, I suppose,' replied Perker. 'It don't matter much, though; Idon't think many counsel could get a great deal out of HIM.'

'I don't think they could,' said Mr. Pickwick, smiling, despite hisvexation, at the idea of Sam's appearance as a witness. 'What course dowe pursue?'

'We have only one to adopt, my dear Sir,' replied Perker; 'cross-examinethe witnesses; trust to Snubbin's eloquence; throw dust in the eyes ofthe judge; throw ourselves on the jury.'

'And suppose the verdict is against me?' said Mr. Pickwick.

Mr. Perker smiled, took a very long pinch of snuff, stirred the fire,shrugged his shoulders, and remained expressively silent.

'You mean that in that case I must pay the damages?' said Mr. Pickwick,who had watched this telegraphic answer with considerable sternness.

Perker gave the fire another very unnecessary poke, and said, 'I amafraid so.'

'Then I beg to announce to you my unalterable determination to pay nodamages whatever,' said Mr. Pickwick, most emphatically. 'None, Perker.Not a pound, not a penny of my money, shall find its way into thepockets of Dodson and Fogg. That is my deliberate and irrevocabledetermination.' Mr. Pickwick gave a heavy blow on the table before him,in confirmation of the irrevocability of his intention.

'Very well, my dear Sir, very well,' said Perker. 'You know best, ofcourse.'

'Of course,' replied Mr. Pickwick hastily. 'Where does Serjeant Snubbinlive?' 'In Lincoln's Inn Old Square,' replied Perker.

'I should like to see him,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'See Serjeant Snubbin, my dear Sir!' rejoined Perker, in utteramazement. 'Pooh, pooh, my dear Sir, impossible. See Serjeant Snubbin!Bless you, my dear Sir, such a thing was never heard of, without aconsultation fee being previously paid, and a consultation fixed. Itcouldn't be done, my dear Sir; it couldn't be done.'

Mr. Pickwick, however, had made up his mind not only that it could bedone, but that it should be done; and the consequence was, that withinten minutes after he had received the assurance that the thing wasimpossible, he was conducted by his solicitor into the outer office ofthe great Serjeant Snubbin himself.

It was an uncarpeted room of tolerable dimensions, with a largewriting-table drawn up near the fire, the baize top of which had longsince lost all claim to its original hue of green, and had graduallygrown gray with dust and age, except where all traces of its naturalcolour were obliterated by ink-stains. Upon the table were numerouslittle bundles of papers tied with red tape; and behind it, sat anelderly clerk, whose sleek appearance and heavy gold watch-chainpresented imposing indications of the extensive and lucrative practiceof Mr. Serjeant Snubbin.

'Is the Serjeant in his room, Mr. Mallard?' inquired Perker, offeringhis box with all imaginable courtesy.

'Yes, he is,' was the reply, 'but he's very busy. Look here; not anopinion given yet, on any one of these cases; and an expedition feepaid with all of 'em.' The clerk smiled as he said this, and inhaled thepinch of snuff with a zest which seemed to be compounded of a fondnessfor snuff and a relish for fees.

'Something like practice that,' said Perker.

'Yes,' said the barrister's clerk, producing his own box, and offeringit with the greatest cordiality; 'and the best of it is, that as nobodyalive except myself can read the serjeant's writing, they are obliged towait for the opinions, when he has given them, till I have copied 'em,ha-ha-ha!'

'Which makes good for we know who, besides the serjeant, and draws alittle more out of the clients, eh?' said Perker; 'ha, ha, ha!' At thisthe serjeant's clerk laughed again--not a noisy boisterous laugh, buta silent, internal chuckle, which Mr. Pickwick disliked to hear. Whena man bleeds inwardly, it is a dangerous thing for himself; but when helaughs inwardly, it bodes no good to other people.

'You haven't made me out that little list of the fees that I'm in yourdebt, have you?' said Perker.

'No, I have not,' replied the clerk.

'I wish you would,' said Perker. 'Let me have them, and I'll send youa cheque. But I suppose you're too busy pocketing the ready money, tothink of the debtors, eh? ha, ha, ha!' This sally seemed to ticklethe clerk amazingly, and he once more enjoyed a little quiet laugh tohimself.

'But, Mr. Mallard, my dear friend,' said Perker, suddenly recoveringhis gravity, and drawing the great man's great man into a Corner, by thelappel of his coat; 'you must persuade the Serjeant to see me, and myclient here.'

'Come, come,' said the clerk, 'that's not bad either. See the Serjeant!come, that's too absurd.' Notwithstanding the absurdity of the proposal,however, the clerk allowed himself to be gently drawn beyond the hearingof Mr. Pickwick; and after a short conversation conducted in whispers,walked softly down a little dark passage, and disappeared into the legalluminary's sanctum, whence he shortly returned on tiptoe, and informedMr. Perker and Mr. Pickwick that the Serjeant had been prevailed upon,in violation of all established rules and customs, to admit them atonce.

Mr. Serjeant Snubbins was a lantern-faced, sallow-complexioned man, ofabout five-and-forty, or--as the novels say--he might be fifty. He hadthat dull-looking, boiled eye which is often to be seen in the headsof people who have applied themselves during many years to a weary andlaborious course of study; and which would have been sufficient, withoutthe additional eyeglass which dangled from a broad black riband roundhis neck, to warn a stranger that he was very near-sighted. His hair wasthin and weak, which was partly attributable to his having neverdevoted much time to its arrangement, and partly to his having worn forfive-and-twenty years the forensic wig which hung on a block beside him.The marks of hairpowder on his coat-collar, and the ill-washed and worsetied white neckerchief round his throat, showed that he had not foundleisure since he left the court to make any alteration in his dress;while the slovenly style of the remainder of his costume warranted theinference that his personal appearance would not have been very muchimproved if he had. Books of practice, heaps of papers, and openedletters, were scattered over the table, without any attempt at order orarrangement; the furniture of the room was old and rickety; the doors ofthe book-case were rotting in their hinges; the dust flew out from thecarpet in little clouds at every step; the blinds were yellow with ageand dirt; the state of everything in the room showed, with a clearnessnot to be mistaken, that Mr. Serjeant Snubbin was far too much occupiedwith his professional pursuits to take any great heed or regard of hispersonal comforts.

The Serjeant was writing when his clients entered; he bowed abstractedlywhen Mr. Pickwick was introduced by his solicitor; and then, motioningthem to a seat, put his pen carefully in the inkstand, nursed his leftleg, and waited to be spoken to.

'Mr. Pickwick is the defendant in Bardell and Pickwick, SerjeantSnubbin,' said Perker.

'I am retained in that, am I?' said the Serjeant.

'You are, Sir,' replied Perker.

The Serjeant nodded his head, and waited for something else.

'Mr. Pickwick was anxious to call upon you, Serjeant Snubbin,' saidPerker, 'to state to you, before you entered upon the case, that hedenies there being any ground or pretence whatever for the actionagainst him; and that unless he came into court with clean hands, andwithout the most conscientious conviction that he was right in resistingthe plaintiff's demand, he would not be there at all. I believe I stateyour views correctly; do I not, my dear Sir?' said the little man,turning to Mr. Pickwick.

'Quite so,' replied that gentleman.

Mr. Serjeant Snubbin unfolded his glasses, raised them to his eyes; and,after looking at Mr. Pickwick for a few seconds with great curiosity,turned to Mr. Perker, and said, smiling slightly as he spoke--'Has Mr.Pickwick a strong case?'

The attorney shrugged his shoulders.

'Do you propose calling witnesses?'

'No.'

The smile on the Serjeant's countenance became more defined; he rockedhis leg with increased violence; and, throwing himself back in hiseasy-chair, coughed dubiously.

These tokens of the Serjeant's presentiments on the subject, slight asthey were, were not lost on Mr. Pickwick. He settled the spectacles,through which he had attentively regarded such demonstrations of thebarrister's feelings as he had permitted himself to exhibit, more firmlyon his nose; and said with great energy, and in utter disregard of allMr. Perker's admonitory winkings and frownings--

'My wishing to wait upon you, for such a purpose as this, Sir, appears,I have no doubt, to a gentleman who sees so much of these matters as youmust necessarily do, a very extraordinary circumstance.'

The Serjeant tried to look gravely at the fire, but the smile came backagain.

'Gentlemen of your profession, Sir,' continued Mr. Pickwick, 'see theworst side of human nature. All its disputes, all its ill-will and badblood, rise up before you. You know from your experience of juries (Imean no disparagement to you, or them) how much depends upon effect;and you are apt to attribute to others, a desire to use, for purposesof deception and Self-interest, the very instruments which you, in purehonesty and honour of purpose, and with a laudable desire to do yourutmost for your client, know the temper and worth of so well, fromconstantly employing them yourselves. I really believe that to thiscircumstance may be attributed the vulgar but very general notion ofyour being, as a body, suspicious, distrustful, and over-cautious.Conscious as I am, sir, of the disadvantage of making such a declarationto you, under such circumstances, I have come here, because I wish youdistinctly to understand, as my friend Mr. Perker has said, that I aminnocent of the falsehood laid to my charge; and although I am very wellaware of the inestimable value of your assistance, Sir, I must beg toadd, that unless you sincerely believe this, I would rather be deprivedof the aid of your talents than have the advantage of them.'

Long before the close of this address, which we are bound to say was ofa very prosy character for Mr. Pickwick, the Serjeant had relapsed intoa state of abstraction. After some minutes, however, during which he hadreassumed his pen, he appeared to be again aware of the presence of hisclients; raising his head from the paper, he said, rather snappishly--

'Who is with me in this case?'

'Mr. Phunky, Serjeant Snubbin,' replied the attorney.

'Phunky--Phunky,' said the Serjeant, 'I never heard the name before. Hemust be a very young man.'

'Yes, he is a very young man,' replied the attorney. 'He was only calledthe other day. Let me see--he has not been at the Bar eight years yet.'

'Ah, I thought not,' said the Serjeant, in that sort of pitying tone inwhich ordinary folks would speak of a very helpless little child. 'Mr.Mallard, send round to Mr.--Mr.--' 'Phunky's--Holborn Court, Gray'sInn,' interposed Perker. (Holborn Court, by the bye, is South Squarenow.) 'Mr. Phunky, and say I should be glad if he'd step here, amoment.'

Mr. Mallard departed to execute his commission; and Serjeant Snubbinrelapsed into abstraction until Mr. Phunky himself was introduced.

Although an infant barrister, he was a full-grown man. He had a verynervous manner, and a painful hesitation in his speech; it did notappear to be a natural defect, but seemed rather the result of timidity,arising from the consciousness of being 'kept down' by want of means,or interest, or connection, or impudence, as the case might be. He wasoverawed by the Serjeant, and profoundly courteous to the attorney.

'I have not had the pleasure of seeing you before, Mr. Phunky,' saidSerjeant Snubbin, with haughty condescension.

Mr. Phunky bowed. He HAD had the pleasure of seeing the Serjeant, andof envying him too, with all a poor man's envy, for eight years and aquarter.

'You are with me in this case, I understand?' said the Serjeant.

If Mr. Phunky had been a rich man, he would have instantly sent for hisclerk to remind him; if he had been a wise one, he would have appliedhis forefinger to his forehead, and endeavoured to recollect, whether,in the multiplicity of his engagements, he had undertaken this one ornot; but as he was neither rich nor wise (in this sense, at all events)he turned red, and bowed.

'Have you read the papers, Mr. Phunky?' inquired the Serjeant.

Here again, Mr. Phunky should have professed to have forgotten all aboutthe merits of the case; but as he had read such papers as had been laidbefore him in the course of the action, and had thought of nothing else,waking or sleeping, throughout the two months during which he had beenretained as Mr. Serjeant Snubbin's junior, he turned a deeper red andbowed again.

'This is Mr. Pickwick,' said the Serjeant, waving his pen in thedirection in which that gentleman was standing.

Mr. Phunky bowed to Mr. Pickwick, with a reverence which a first clientmust ever awaken; and again inclined his head towards his leader.

'Perhaps you will take Mr. Pickwick away,' said the Serjeant,'and--and--and--hear anything Mr. Pickwick may wish to communicate. Weshall have a consultation, of course.' With that hint that he hadbeen interrupted quite long enough, Mr. Serjeant Snubbin, who had beengradually growing more and more abstracted, applied his glass to hiseyes for an instant, bowed slightly round, and was once more deeplyimmersed in the case before him, which arose out of an interminablelawsuit, originating in the act of an individual, deceased a centuryor so ago, who had stopped up a pathway leading from some place whichnobody ever came from, to some other place which nobody ever went to.

Mr. Phunky would not hear of passing through any door until Mr. Pickwickand his solicitor had passed through before him, so it was some timebefore they got into the Square; and when they did reach it, they walkedup and down, and held a long conference, the result of which was, thatit was a very difficult matter to say how the verdict would go; thatnobody could presume to calculate on the issue of an action; that itwas very lucky they had prevented the other party from getting SerjeantSnubbin; and other topics of doubt and consolation, common in such aposition of affairs.

Mr. Weller was then roused by his master from a sweet sleep of an hour'sduration; and, bidding adieu to Lowten, they returned to the city.