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.