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.

So we have, ladies and gentlemen, these three types of this honourable profession.  To my mind they have never been quite placed in their proper order.  Perker has been universally admired and looked up to; Dodson and Fogg have been universally denounced; Mr. Pell has been suffered to remain unnoticed.  Well,

let us judge fairly the merits of these three gentlemen.

If Mr. Perker had lived to-day instead of in the year 1827, he would undoubtedly have been tried for the part he took in the Eatanswill election.  What is the charge, after all, against Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, except that question with regard to poor Ramsey?—which, after all, is only a story told by the clerk Wicks, upon whom I do not think we can place very much reliance.  What else did Dodson and Fogg do that should make them the object of obloquy and universal execration?  They brought an action for breach of promise of marriage—some people think such actions should never be brought at all—they brought the action for breach of promise of marriage; they made a little arrangement with regard

to costs, unprofessional if you like, but still nothing to bring down upon them the denouncement to which they have been made subject.  So far as Mr. Pickwick was concerned, he had absolutely nothing to complain of in their conduct; and I venture to say it was most reprehensible in him under the circumstances to use the language which he did upon the occasion which I have quoted.  But against Mr. Pell there is absolutely nothing to be said.  He perhaps romanced a little with regard to his friendship with the Lord Chancellor; but which of us would not like to be on friendly terms with the Lord Chancellor?  On that trifling exaggeration there is nothing practically to be urged against him; and while I claim for Mr. Pell the position of premier in this matter, I am sorry I

have to accord to Mr. Perker the third place.

Well, now, although I would love to linger over Mr. Pell, I must pass on to say something of the counsel mentioned in this admirable work.  But before I consider the more eminent and the more conspicuous of these, there is one member of the Bar who is seldom alluded to, but of whom I wish to say something to-night.  I refer to Mr. Prosee.  Mr. Prosee very few of you have ever heard of.  He dined with Mr. Perker at Montague Place, Russell Square, on one occasion.  It must have been rather a dull dinner party, for there were present two good country agents, Mr. Snicks, the Life Office Secretary, Mr. Prosee, the eminent counsel, three solicitors, one Commissioner of Bankrupts, a special pleader from the Temple, a

small-eyed, peremptory young gentleman, his pupil, who had written a lively book about the law of demises, with a vast quantity of marginal notes and references; and several other eminent and distinguished personages, including the Mr. Prosee just mentioned.

Ladies and gentlemen, I do not know how it is, but I have always associated Mr. Prosee with the Equity Bar.  It may be that his name suggests it.

Well, I come now to the counsel which is better known to you, namely Serjeant Snubbin.

“We’ve done everything that’s necessary,” said Mr. Perker.  “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 the business of any man in court—engaged in every case.  You needn’t mention it abroad, but we say—we of the profession—that Serjeant Snubbin leads the court by the nose.”

“I should like to see him,” said Mr. Pickwick.

“See Serjeant Snubbin, my dear sir!” rejoined Perker, in utter amazement.  “Pooh, pooh! my dear sir, impossible!  See Serjeant Snubbin!  Bless you, my dear sir, such a thing was never heard of without a consultation fee being previously paid, and a consultation fixed.  It couldn’t be done, my dear sir—it couldn’t be done!”

Thus was Mr. Pickwick brought face to face with the difficulty of seeing his own counsel.  He could not understand why, having retained

the services of a professional man and paid for them, there should exist any impediment to prevent access to him.  I won’t discuss to-night the advisability or non-advisability of dividing the profession of the law into two parts, but I do say that any system which prevents litigants having the fullest personal communication with those they have paid to represent them is an anomaly and an absurdity.

But Mr. Pickwick was a person of determination, and he did see Serjeant Snubbin, and he delivered to that learned gentleman a short address that was well worthy of his attention, as it is of every member of the Bar, including your very humble servant.

“Gentlemen of your profession, sir,” continued Mr. Pickwick, “see the worst

side of human nature.  All its disputes, all its ill-will and bad blood, rise up before you.  You know from your experience of juries (I mean no disparagement to you, or them) how much depends upon effect; and you are apt to attribute to others a desire to use, for purposes of deception and self-interest, the very instruments which you, in pure honesty and honour of purpose, and with a laudable desire to do your utmost for your client, know the temper and worth of so well, from constantly employing them yourselves.  I really believe that to this circumstance may be attributed the vulgar but very general notion of your being, as a body, suspicious, distrustful, and overcautious.  Conscious as I am, sir, of the disadvantage of making such a declaration