hedied a bacheloron the 24th day of october, 1807,in the 55th year of his age;and without forgettingrelations friends and acquaintancesbequeathed one fifth of his propertyto public charity.
readerthe world is open to thee.“go thou and do likewise.”[22]
It was generally supposed that this beautiful composition was from the pen of Mr. Prigg himself, who, sitting as he did so high on his branch of the Family Tree,
could lookwith pride and sympathyonthe manly strugglesof a humbler memberlower down!
High Birth, like Great Wealth, can afford to condescend!
Mrs. Prigg was worthy of her illustrious consort. She was of the noble family of the Snobs, and in every way did honour to her progenitors. As the reader is aware, there is what is known as a “cultivated voice,” the result of education—it is absolutely without affectation: there is also the voice which, in imitation of the well-trained one, is little more than a burlesque, and isaffected in the highest degree: this was the only fault in Mrs. Prigg’s voice.
Mr. Prigg’s home was charmingly small, but had all the pretensions of a stately country house—its conservatory, its drawing-room, its study, and a dining-room which told you as plainly as any dining-room could speak, “I am related to Donkey Hall, where the Squire lives: I belong to the same aristocratic family.”
Then there was the great heavy-headed clock in the passage. He did not appear at all to know that he had come down in the world through being sold by auction for two pounds ten. He said with great plausibility, “My worth is not to be measured by the amount of money I can command; I am the same personage as before.” And I thought it a very true observation, but the philosophy thereof was a little discounted by his haughty demeanour, which had certainly gone up as he himself had come down; and that is a reason why I don’t as a rule like people who have come down in the world—they are sure to be so stuck up. But I do like a person who has come down in the world and doesn’t at all mind it—much better than any man who has got up in the world from the half-crown, and does mind it upon all occasions.
Mrs. Prigg, apart from her high descent, was a very aristocratic person: as the presence of the grand piano in the drawing-room would testify. She could no more live without a grand piano than ordinary people could exist without food: the grand piano, albeit a very dilapidated one, was a necessity of her well-descended condition. It was no matter that it displaced more useful furniture; in that it only imitated a good many other persons, and it told you whenever you entered the room: “You seeme here in a comparatively small way, but understand, I have been in far different circumstances: I have been courted by the great, and listened to by the aristocracy of England. I follow Mrs. Prigg wherever she goes: she is a lady; her connections are high, and she never yet associated with any but the best families. You could not diminish from her very high breeding: put her in the workhouse, and with me to accompany her, it would be transformed into a palace.”
Mr. Prigg was by no means a rich man as the world counts richness. No one ever heard of his having a “practice,” although it was believed he did a great deal in the way of “lending his name”and professionto impecunious and uneducated men; who could turn many a six-and-eightpence under its prestige. So great is the moral “power of attorney,” as contradistinguished from the legal “power of attorney.”
But Prigg, as I have hinted, was not only respectable, he wasgood: he was more than that even, he wasnotoriouslygood: so much so, that he was called, in contradistinction to all other lawyers, “Honest Lawyer Prigg”; and he had further acquired, almost as a universal title, the sobriquet of “Nice.” Everybody said, “What a very nice man Mr. Prigg is!” Then, in addition to all this, he was consideredclever—why, I do not know; but I have often observed that men can obtain the reputation of being clever at very little cost, and without the least foundation. The cheapest of all ways is to abuse men who really are clever, and if your abuse be pungently and not too coarsely worded, it will be accepted by the ignorant ascriticism. Nothing goes down with shallow minds like criticism, and the severest criticism is generally based on envy and jealousy.
Mr. Prigg, then, was clever, respectable, good, and nice, remarkably potent qualities for success in this world.
So I saw in my dream that Mr. Bumpkin, whose feelings were duly aroused, turned his eye upon Honest Lawyer Prigg, and resolved to consult him upon the grievous outrage to which he had been subjected at the hands of the cunning Snooks: and without more ado he resolved to call on that very worthy and extremely nice gentleman.
On the extreme simplicity of going to law.
With his right leg resting on his left, with his two thumbs nicely adjusted, and with the four points of his right fingers in delicate contact with the fingers of his left hand, sat Honest Lawyer Prigg, listening to the tale of unutterable woe, as recounted by Farmer Bumpkin.
Sometimes the good man’s eyes looked keenly at the farmer, and sometimes they scanned vacantly the ceiling, where a wandering fly seemed, like Mr. Bumpkin, in search of consolation or redress. Sometimes Mr. Prigg nodded his respectable head and shoulders in token of his comprehension of Mr. Bumpkin’s lucid statement: then he nodded two or three times in succession, implying that the Court was with Mr. Bumpkin, and occasionally he would utter with a soft soothing voice,
“Quite so!”
When he said “quite so,” he parted his fingers, and reunited them with great precision; then he softly tapped them together, closed his eyes, and seemed lost in profound meditation.
Here Mr. Bumpkin paused and stared. Was Mr. Prigg listening?
“Pray proceed,” said the lawyer, “I quite follow you;—never mind about what anybody else had offered you for the pig—the question really is whether you actually sold this pig to Snooks or not—whether the bargain was complete or inchoate.”
Mr. Bumpkin stared again. “I beant much of a scollard, sir,” he observed; “but I’ll take my oath I never sold un t’pig.”
“That is the question,” remarked the lawyer. “You say you did not? Quite so; had this Joe of yours any authority to receive money on your behalf?”
“Devil a bit,” answered Bumpkin.
“Excuse me,” said Mr. Prigg, “I have to put these questions: it is necessary that I should understand where we are: of course, if you did not sell the pig, he had no right whatever to come and take it out of the sty—it was a trespass?”
“That’s what I says,” said Bumpkin; and down went his fist on Mr. Prigg’s table with such vehemence that the solicitor started as though aroused by a shock of dynamite.
“Let us be calm,” said the lawyer, taking some paper from his desk, and carefully examining the nib of a quill pen, “Let me see, I think you said your name was Thomas?”
“That’s it, sir; and so was my father’s afore me.”
“Thomas Bumpkin?”
“I beant ashamed on him.”
And then Mr. Prigg wrote out a document and read it aloud; and Mr. Bumpkin agreeing with it, scratched his name at the bottom—very badly scratched it was, but well enough for Mr. Prigg. This was simply to retain Mr. Prigg as his solicitor in the cause ofBumpkinv.Snooks.
“Quite so, quite so; now let me see; be calm, Mr. Bumpkin, be calm; in all these matters we must never lose our self-possession. You see, I am not excited.”
“Noa,” said Bumpkin; “but then ur dint tak thy pig.”
“Quite true, I can appreciate the position, it was no doubt a gross outrage. Now tell me—this Snooks, as I understand, is the coal-merchant down the village?”
“That’s ur,” said Bumpkin.
“I suppose he’s a man of some property, eh?”
Mr. Bumpkin looked for a few moments without speaking, and then said:
“He wur allays a close-fisted un, and I should reckon have a goodish bit o’ property.”
“Because you know,” remarked the solicitor, “it is highly important, when one wins a case and obtains damages, that the defendant should be in a position to pay them.”
This was the first time that ever the flavour of damages had got into Bumpkin’s mouth; and a very nice flavour it was. To beat Snooks was one thing, a satisfaction; to make him pay was another, a luxury.
“Yes, sir,” he repeated; “I bleeve he ave, I bleeve he ave.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Wull, fust and foremust, I knows he lent a party a matter of a hundred pound, for I witnessed un.”
“Then he hasn’t got that,” said the lawyer.
“Yes ur ave, sir, or how so be as good; for it wur a morgage like, and since then he’ve got the house.”
Mr. Prigg made a note, and asked where the house was.
“It be widder Jackson’s.”
“Indeed; very well.”
“An then there be the bisness.”
“Exactly,” said the lawyer, “horses and carts, weighing machines, and so on?”
“And the house he live in,” said Bumpkin, “I know as ow that longs to him.”
“Very well; I think that will be enough to start with.” Now, Mr. Prigg knew pretty well the position of the respective parties himself; so it was not so much for his own information that he made these inquiries as to infuse into Bumpkin’s mind a notion of the importance of the case.
“Now,” said he, throwing down the pen, “this is a very serious matter, Mr. Bumpkin.”
This was a comfort, and Bumpkin looked agreeably surprised and vastly important.
“A very serious case,” and again the tips of the fingers were brought in contact.
“I spoase we can’t bring un afore jusseses, sir?”
“Well, you see the criminal law is dangerous; you can’t get damages, and you may get an action for malicious prosecution.”
“I think we ought to mak un pay for ’t.”
“That is precisely my own view, but I am totally at a loss to understand the reason of such outrageous conduct on the part of this Snooks. Now don’t be offended, Mr. Bumpkin, if I put a question to you. You know, we lawyers like to search to the bottom of things. I can understand, if you had owed him any money—”
“Owe un money!” exclaimed Bumpkin contemptuously; “why I could buy un out and out.”
“Ah, quite so, quite so; so I should have supposed from what I know of you, Mr. Bumpkin.”
“Lookee ere, sir,” said the farmer; “I bin a ard workin man all my life, paid my way, twenty shillins in the pound, and doant owe a penny as fur as I knows.”
“And if you did, Mr. Bumpkin,” said the lawyer with a good-natured laugh, “I dare say you could pay.”
“Wull, I bleeve there’s no man can axe me for nothing; and thank God, what I’ve got’s my own; and there aint many as got pootier stock nor mine—all good bred uns, Mr. Prigg.”
“Yes, I’ve often heard your cattle praised.”
“He be a blagard if ur says I owed un money.”
“O, dear, Mr. Bumpkin, pray don’t misunderstand me; he did not, that I am aware, allege that he took the pig because you owed him money; and even if you did, he could not legally have done so. Now this is not a mere matter of debt; it’s a very serious case of trespass.”
“Ay; zo ’t be sir; that was my bleef, might jist as wull a tooked baacon out o’ baacon loft.”
“Just the same. Quite so—quite so!”
“And I want thee, Mr. Prigg, to mak un pay for’t—mak un pay, sir; it beant so much th’ pig.”
“Quite so: quite so: that were a very trifling affair, and might be settled in the County Court; but, in fact, it’s not the pig at all, it’s trespass, and you want to make him answerable in damages.”
“That’s it, sir; you’ve got un.”
“I suppose an apology and a return of the pig would not be enough.”
“I’ll make un know he beant everybody,” said Bumpkin.
“Quite so; now what shall we lay the damages at?”
“Wull, sir, as for that, I doant rightly know; if so be he’d pay down, that’s one thing, but it’s my bleef as you might jist as wull try to dror blood out of a stoane as git thic feller to do what’s right.”
“Shall we say a hundred pounds and costs?”
Never did man look more astonished than Bumpkin. A hundred pounds! What a capital thing going to law must be! But, as the reader knows, he was a remarkably discreet man, and never in the course of his dealing committed himself till the final moment. Whenever anybody made him a “bid,” he invariably met the offer with one form of refusal. “Nay, nay; it beant good enough: I bin offered moore.” And this had answered so well, that it came natural to Bumpkin to refuse on all occasions the first offer. It was not to be wondered at then that the question should be regarded in the light of an offer from Snooks himself. Now he could hardly say “I binbid mooremoney,” because the case wasn’t in the market; but he could and did say the next best thing to it, namely:—
“I wunt let un goo for that—’t be wuth moore!”
“Very well,” observed Prigg; “so long as we know: we can lay our damages at what we please.”
Now there was great consolation in that. The plaintiff paused and rubbed his chin. “What do thee think, sir?”
“I think if he pays something handsome, and gives us an apology, and pays the costs, I should advise you to take it.”
“As you please, sir; I leaves it to you; I beant a hard man, I hope.”
“Very good; we will see what can be done. I shall bring this action in the Chancery Division.”
“Hem! I’ve eerd tell, sir, that if ever a case gets into that ere Coourt he niver comes out agin.”
“O, that’s all nonsense; there used to be a good deal of truth in that; but the procedure is now so alteredthat you can do pretty much what you like: this is an age of despatch; you bring your action, and your writ is almost like a cheque payable on demand!”
“Wull, I beant no lawyer, never had nothing to do wi un in my life; but I should like to axe, sir, why thee’ll bring this ere case in Chancery?”
“Good; well, come now, I like to be frank; we shall get more costs?”
Mr. Bumpkin again rubbed his chin. “And do I get em?” he asked.
“Well, they go towards expenses; the other side always pays.”
This was a stroke of reasoning not to be gainsaid. But Mr. Prigg had a further observation to make on the subject, and it was this:
“After the case has gone on up to being ready for trial, and the Judges find that it is a case more fitting to be tried in the Common Law Courts, then an order is made transferring it, that is, sending it out of Chancery to be tried by one of the other Judges.”
“Can’t see un,” said Bumpkin, “I beant much of a scollard, but I tak it thee knows best.”
Mr. Prigg smiled: a beneficent, sympathizing smile.
“I dare say,” he said, “it looks a little mysterious, but we lawyers understand it; so, if you don’t mind, I shall bring it in the Chancery Division in the first instance; and nice and wild the other side will be. I fancy I see the countenance of Snooks’ lawyer.”
This was a good argument, and perfectly satisfactory to the unsophisticated mind of Bumpkin.
“And when,” he asked, “will ur come on, think’ee?”
“O, in due time; everything is done very quickly now—not like it used to be—you’d be surprised, weused to have to wait years—yes, years, sir, before an action could be tried; and now, why bless my soul, you get judgment before you know where you are.”
How true this turned out to be may hereafter appear; but in a dream you never anticipate.
“I shall write at once,” said “Honest Prigg,” “for compensation and an apology; I think I would have an apology.”
“Make un pay—I doant so much keer for the t’other thing; that beant much quonsequence.”
“Quite so—quite so.” And with this observation Mr. Prigg escorted his client to the door.
In which it appears that the sting of slander is not always in the head.
Mr. Prigg lost no time in addressing a letter to the ill-advised Josiah Snooks with the familiar and affectionate commencement of “Dear Sir,’” asking for compensation for the “gross outrage” he had committed upon “his client;” and an apology to be printed in such papers as he, the client, should select.
The “Dear Sir” replied, not in writing, for he was too artful for that, but by returning, as became his vulgar nature, Mr. Prigg’s letter in a very torn and disgusting condition.
To a gentleman of cultivated mind and sensitive nature, this was intolerable; and Mr. Prigg knew that even the golden bridge of compromise was now destroyed. He no longer felt as a mere lawyer, anxious in the interests of his client, which was a sufficient number of horse-power for anything, but like an outraged and insulted gentleman, which was more after the force of hydraulic pressure than any calculable amount of horse-power. It was clear to his upright and sensitive mind that Snooks was a low creature. Consequently all professional courtesies were at an end: the writ was issued and duly served upon the uncompromising Snooks. Now a writ is not a matter to grin at and to treat withcontempt or levity. Mr. Snooks could not return that document to Mr. Prigg, so he had to consider. And first he consulted his wife: this consultation led to a domestic brawl and then to his kicking one of his horses in the stomach. Then he threw a shovel at his dog, and next the thought occurred to him that he had better go and see Mr. Locust. This gentleman was a solicitor who practised at petty sessions. He did not practise much, but that was, perhaps, his misfortune rather than his fault. He was a small, fiery haired man, with a close cut tuft of beard; small eyes, and a pimply nose, which showed an ostentatious disdain for everything beneath it.
Mr. Locust was not at home, but would return about nine. At nine, therefore, the impatient Snooks appeared.
“Yes,” said Mr. Locust, as he looked at the writ, “I see this writ is issued by Mr. Prigg.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did he not write to you before issuing it?—dear me, this is very sharp practice—very sharp practice: the sharpest thing I ever heard of in all my life.”
“Wull, he did write, but I giv un as good as he sent.”
“Dear me!” exclaimed Mr. Locust; “I am afraid you have committed yourself.”
“No I beant, sir,” said the cunning Snooks, with a grin, “no I beant.”
“You should never write without consulting a solicitor—bear that in mind, Mr. Snooks; it will be an invaluable lesson—hem!”
“I never writ, sir—I ony sent un his letter back.”
“Ah!” said Locust, “come now, that is better; but still you should have consulted me. I see this claim is for three hundred and fifty pounds—it’s for trespass. Now sit down quietly and calmly, and tell me the facts.”And then he took pen and paper and placed himself in position to take his retainer and instructions.
“Wull, sir, it is as this: a Sunday mornin—no, a Sunday mornin week—I won’t tell no lie if I knows it—a Sunday mornin week—”
“Sunday morning week,” writes Locust.
“I buyd a pig off this ere man for nine and six: well, o’ the Monday mornin I goes with my barrer and a sack and I fetches the pig and gies the money to his man Joe Wurzel; leastways I puts it on the poast and he takes it up. Then out comes Bumpkin and swears I never bought un at all, gets in a rage and hits the bag wi’ a stick—”
“Now stop,” said the Lawyer; “are you quite sure he did not strikeyou? That’s the point.”
“Well, sir, he would a’ done if I adn’t a bobbed.”
“Good: that’s an assault in law. You are sure he would have struck you if you hadn’t ducked or bobbed your head?”
“In course it would, else why should I bob?”
“Just so—just so. Now then, we’ve got him there—we’ve got him nicely.”
Snooks’ eyes gleamed.
“Next I want to know: I suppose you didn’t owe him anything?”
“No, nor no other man,” said Snooks, with an air of triumph. “I worked hard for what I got, and no man can’t ax me for a farden. I allays paid twenty shillings in the pound.”
The reader will observe how virtuous both parties were on this point.
“So!” said Locust. “Now you haven’t told me all that took place.”
“That be about all, sir.”
“Yes, yes; but I suppose there was something said between you—did you have any words—was he angry—did he call you any names or say anything in an angry way?”
“Well, not partickler—”
“Not particular: I will judge of that. Just tell me what was said.”
“When, sir?”
“Well, begin on the Sunday morning. What was first said?”
Then Snooks told the Solicitor all that took place, with sundry additions which his imagination supplied when his memory failed.
“And I member the price wull, becos he said ‘You beant sellin coals, recollect, so you doant ave me.”
“Ho! ho!” exclaimed Locust rubbing his hands, “You are sure he said that?” writing down the words carefully.
“I be.”
“That will do, we’ve got him: we’ve got him nicely. Was anybody present when he said this?”
“Yes, sir. Joe were there, and t’ best o’ my belief, Mrs. Bumpkin.”
“Never mind Mrs. Bumpkin. I don’t suppose she was there, if you come to recollect; it’s quite enough if Joe was present and could hear what was said. I suppose he could hear it?”
“Stood cloase by.”
“Very well—that is slander—and slander of a very gross kind. We’ve got him.”
“Be it?” said Snooks.
“I’ll show you,” said Locust; “in law a man slanders you if he insinuates that you are dishonest; now whatdoes this Bumpkin do? he says ‘you don’t have me,’ meaning thereby that you don’t trick him out of his pig; and, ‘you are not selling coals,’ meaning that when you do sell coals you do trick people. Do you see?—that you cheat them, in fact rob them.”
Snooks thought Mr. Locust the most wonderful man he had ever come across. This was quite a new way of putting it.
“But ur didn’t say as much,” he said, wondering whether that made any difference.
“Perfectly immaterial in law,” said Mr. Locust: “it isn’t what a man says, it’s what hemeans: you put that in by an innuendo—”
“A what, sir? begging pardon—”
“It’s what we lawyers call an innuendo: that is to say, making out that a man says so and so when he doesn’t.”
“I zee,” said the artful Snooks, quick at apprehending every point. “Then if he called a chap a devilish honest man and the innu—what d’ye call it, meant he were a thief, you got him?”
“Well,” said Mr. Locust, smiling, “that is going rather far, Mr. Snooks, but I see you understand what I mean.”
“I thinks so, sir. I thinks I has your meanin.”
“It’s a very gross slander,” observed Mr. Locust, “and especially upon a tradesman in your position. I suppose now you have lived in the neighbourhood a considerable time?”
“All my life, sir.”
“Ah! just so, just so—now let me see; and, if I remember rightly, you have a vote for the County.”
“I ave, sir, and allus votes blue, and that’s moore.”
“Then you’re on our side. I’m very glad indeed to hear that; a vote’s a vote, you know, now-a-days.”
Any one would have thought, to hear Mr. Locust, that votes were scarce commodities, whereas we know that they are among the most plentiful articles of commerce as well as the cheapest.
“And you have, I think, a family, Mr. Snooks.”
“Four on em, sir.”
“Ah! how very nice, how laudable to make a little provision for them: as I often say, if a man can only leave his children a few hundreds apiece, it’s something.”
The solicitor watched his client’s face as he uttered this profound truism, and the face being as open and genuine as was Snooks’ character, it said plainly enough “Yes, I have a few hundreds.”
“Well then,” continued Mr. Locust, “having been in business all these years, and being, as times go, tolerably successful, being a careful man, and having got together by honest industry a nice little independency—”
Here the learned gentleman paused, and here, unfortunately, Snooks’ open and candid heart revealed itself through his open and candid countenance.
“Ibelieve,” said Mr. Locust, “I am right?”
“You’re about right, sir.”
“Very charming, very gratifying to one’s feelings,” continued Mr. Locust; “and then, just as you are beginning to get comfortable and getting your family placed in the world, here comes this what shall I call him, I never like to use strong language, this intolerable blackguard, and calls you a thief—a detestable thief.”
“Well, he didn’t use that air word, sir—I wool say that,” said Mr. Snooks.
“In law he did, my good man—he meant it and saidit—he insinuated that you cheated the poor—you serve a good many of the poor, I think?”
“I do, sir.”
“Well, he insinuated that you cheated them by giving short weight and bad coals—that is worse than being a thief, to my mind—such a man deserves hanging.”
“Damn him,” said Snooks, “that’s it, is it?”
“That’s it, my dear sir, smooth it over as you will. I don’t want to make more of it than necessary, but we must look at it fairly and study the consequences. Now I want to ask you particularly, because we must claim special damage for this, if possible—have you lost any customers through this outrageous slander?”
“Can’t say I have, rightly, sir.”
“No, but you will—mark my words, as soon as people hear of this they will cease to deal with you. They can’t deal with you.”
“I hope not, sir.”
“So do I; but let me tell Mr. Bumpkin” (here the learned man shook his forefinger as though it had been the often quoted finger of scorn) “that for every customer you lose we’ll make him answerable in damages. He’ll repeat this slander: take my advice and get some one to look out, and make a note of it—be on your guard!”
Snooks wiped the perspiration from his forehead and then threw his large coloured handkerchief into his hat, which he held by both hands between his knees,
“It be a bad case then, sir?”
“A very bad case for Bumpkin!” replied Mr. Locust; “let me have a list of your customers as soon as you can, and we shall see who leaves you in consequence of this slander. Does my friend, Mr. Overrighteous, deal with you? I think he does?”
“He do, sir, and have for five or six years—and a good customer he be.”
“Ah! now, there’s a man! Whatever you do don’t let Mr. Overrighteous know of it: he would leave you directly: a more particular man than that can’t be. Then again, there is my friend Flythekite, does he deal with you? Of course he does!”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’ll lose him—sure to lose him.”
Judging from Mr. Snooks’ countenance it would have been small damage if he did.
“Ve-ry well,” continued Locust, after a pause, “ve-ry well—just so.” Then he looked at the copy of the writ and perceived that it was dated eighteen hundred and ninety something instead of eighteen hundred and seventy something. So he said that the writ was wrong and they ought not to appear; “by which means,” said he, “we shall let them in at the start for a lot of costs—we shall let them in.”
“And will that stash the action?” asked Snooks.
“It will not stash ours,” said Locust. “I suppose you mean to go on whether he does or not? Your claim is for assault and slander.”
“As you please, sir.”
“No, no, as you please. I have not been called a thief—they haven’t said that I sell short weight and cheat and defraud the poor:mybusiness will not be ruined—mycharacter is not at stake.”
“Let un have it, sir; he be a bad un,” and here he rose to depart. Mr. Locust gave him a professional shake of the hand and wished him good day. But as the door was just about to be closed on his client, he rememberedsomething which he desired to ask, so he called, “Mr. Snooks!”
“Sir,” said the client.
“Is there any truth in the statement that this Bumpkin beats his wife?”
“I doant rightly know,” said Snooks, in a hesitating voice; “it may be true. I shouldn’t wonder—he’s just the sort o’ man.”
“Just enquire about that, will you?”
“I wool, sir,” said Snooks; and thus his interview with his Solicitor terminated.
Now the result of the enquiries as to the domestic happiness of Bumpkin was this; first, the question floated about in a vague sort of form, “Does Bumpkin beat his wife?” then it grew into “Have you heard that Bumpkin beats his wife?” and lastly, it was affirmed that Bumpkin “really did beat his wife.” And the scandal spread so rapidly that it soon reached the ears of plaintiff himself, who would have treated it with the contempt it deserved, knowing the quarter whence it came, but that it was so gross a calumny that he determined to give the lying Snooks no quarter, and to press his action with all the energy at his command.
After this there could be no compromise.
“I wish,” said Snooks to himself, as he smoked his pipe that evening, “I could a worked one o’ them there innerenders in my trade—I could a made summut on him.”
Showing how the greatest wisdom of Parliament may be thrown away on ungrateful people.
The first skirmish between the two doughty champions of the hostile forces took place over the misdated writ. Judgment was signed for want of appearance; and then came a summons to set it aside. The Judge set it aside, and the Divisional Court set aside the Judge, and the Court of Appeal set aside the Divisional Court upon the terms of the defendant paying the costs, and the writ being amended, &c. &c. And I saw that when the Judge in Chambers had hesitatingly and “not without grave doubt” set aside the judgment, Mr. Prigg said to Mr. Locust, “What a very nice point!” And Mr. Locust replied:
“A very nice point, indeed! Of course you’ll appeal?” And Mr. Quibbler, Mr. Locust’s pleader, said, “A very neat point!”
“Oh dear, yes,” answered Mr. Prigg.
And then Mr. Prigg’s clerk said to Mr. Locust’s clerk—“What a very nice point!” And Mr. Locust’s clerk rejoined that it was indeed a very nice point! And then Mr. Locust’s boy in the office said to Mr. Prigg’s boy in the office, “What a very nice point!” And Mr. Prigg’s boy, a pale tall lad of about five feet six, and of remarkably quiet demeanour, replied—
“A dam nice point!”
Next came letters from the respective Solicitors, suggesting a compromise in such terms that compromise became impossible; each affirming that he was so averse from litigation that almost any amicable arrangement that could be come to would be most welcome. Each required a sum of two hundred pounds and an apology in six morning papers. And I saw at the foot of one of Mr. Prigg’s letters, when the hope of compromise was nearly at an end, these touching words:
“Bumpkin’s blood’s up!”
And at the end of the answer thereto, this very expressive retort:
“You say Bumpkin’s blood is up; so is Snooks’—do your worst!”
As I desire to inform the lay reader as to the interesting course an action may take under the present expeditious mode of procedure, I must now state what I saw in my dream. The course is sinuosity itself in appearance, but that only renders it the more beautiful. The reader will be able to judge for himself of the simple method by which we try actions nowadays, and how very delightful the procedure is. The first skirmish cost Snooks seventeen pounds six shillings and eight-pence. It cost Bumpkin only three pounds seventeen shillings, orone heifer. Now commenced that wonderful process called “Pleading,” which has been the delight and the pride of so many ages; developing gradually century by century, until at last it has perfected itself into the most beautiful system of evasion and duplicity that the world has ever seen. It ranks as one of the fine Arts with Poetry and Painting. A great Pleader is truly a great Artist, and more imaginative than any other. The number of summonses at Chambers is onlylimited by his capacity to invent them. Ask any respectable solicitor how many honest claims are stifled by proceedings at Chambers. And if I may digress in all sincerity for the purpose of usefulness, I may state that while recording my dream for the Press, Solicitors have begged of me to bring this matter forward, so that the Public may know how their interests are played with, and their rights stifled by the iniquitous system of proceedings at Chambers.
The Victorian age will be surely known as the Age of Pleading, Poetry, and Painting.
First, the Statement of Claim. Summons at Chambers to plead and demur; summons to strike out; summons to let in; summons to answer, summons not to answer; summonses for all sorts of conceivable and inconceivable objects; summonses for no objects at all except costs. And let me here say Mr. Prigg and Mr. Locust are not alone blameable for this: Mr. Quibbler, Mr. Locust’s Pleader, had more to do with this than the Solicitor himself. And so had Mr. Wrangler, the Pleader of Mr. Prigg. But without repeating what I saw, let the reader take this as the line of proceeding throughout, repeated in at least a dozen instances:—
The Judge at Chambers reversed the Master;
The Divisional Court reversed the Judge;
And the Court of Appeal reversed the Divisional Court.
And let this be the chorus:—
“What a very nice point!” said Prigg;
“What a very nice point!” said Locust;
“What a very nice point!” said Gride (Prigg’s clerk);
“What a d--- nice point!” said Horatio! (the pale boy).
Summons for particulars.—Chorus.
Further and better particulars.—Chorus.
Interrogatories—Summons to strike out.—Chorus.
Summons for further and better answers.—Chorus.
More summonses for more, further, better, and all sorts of things.—Chorus.
All this repeated by the other side, of course; because each has his proper innings. There is great fairness and impartiality in the game. Something was always going up from the foot of this Jacob’s ladder called “the Master” to the higher regions called the Court of Appeal. The simplest possible matter, which any old laundress of the Temple ought to have been competent to decide by giving both the parties a box on the ear, was taken before the Master, from the Master to the Judge, from the Judge to the Divisional Court, and from the Divisional Court to the Court of Appeal, at the expense of the unfortunate litigants; while Judges, who ought to have been engaged in disposing of the business of the country, were occupied in deciding legal quibbles and miserable technicalities. All this I saw in my dream. Up and down this ladder Bumpkin and Snooks were driven—one going up the front while the other was coming down the back. And I heard Bumpkin ask if he wasn’t entitled to the costs which the Court gave when he won. But the answer of Mr. Prigg was, “No, my dear sir, the labourer is worthy of his hire.” And I saw a great many more ups and downs on the ladder which I should weary the reader by repeating: they are all alike equally useless and equally contemptible. Then I thought that poor Bumpkin went up the ladder with a great bundle on his back; and his face seemed quitechanged, so that I hardly knew him, and I said to Horatio, the pale boy—
“Who is that going up now? It looks like Christian in the Pilgrim’s Progress.”
“Oh, no,” said Horatio, “that’s old Bumpkin—it’s a regler sweater for him, ain’t it?”
I said, “Whatever can it be? will he ever reach the top?”
Here Bumpkin seemed to slip, and it almost took my breath away; whereat the pale boy laughed, stooping down as he laughed, and thrusting his hands into his breeches pockets,
“By George!” he exclaimed, “what a jolly lark!”
“I hope he won’t fall,” I exclaimed. “What has he got on his back?”
“Ademurrer,” said Horatio, laughing. “Look at him! That there ladder’s the Judicatur Act: don’t it reach a height? There’s as many rounds in that there ladder as would take a man a lifetime to go up if it was all spread out; it’s just like them fire escapes in reaching up, but nobody ever escapes by it.”
“It will break the poor man’s back,” said I, as he was a few feet from the top. And then in my dream I thought he fell; and the fright was so great that I awoke, and found I was sitting in my easy chair by the fire, and the pipe I had been smoking had fallen out of my hand.
* * * * *
“You’ve been dreaming,” said my wife; “and I fear have had a nightmare.” When I was thoroughly aroused, and had refilled my pipe, I told her all my dream.
Then cried she, “I hope good Mr. Bumpkin will get up safely with that great bundle.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said I, “whether he do or not; he will have to bear its burden, whether he take it up or bring it back. He will have to bring it down again after showing it to the gentlemen at the top.”
“What do they want to see it for?” cried she.
“They have no wish to see it,” I replied; “on the contrary, they would rather not. They will simply say he is a very foolish man for his pains to clamber up so high with so useless a burden.”
“But why don’t they check him?”
“Because they have no power; they look and wonder at the folly of mankind, who can devise no better scheme of amusement for getting rid of their money.”
“But the lawyers are wise people, and they should know better.”
“The lawyers,” said I, “do know better; and all respectable lawyers detest the complicated system which brings them more abuse than fees. They see men, permitted by the law, without character and conscience, bring disgrace on an honourable body of practitioners.”
“But do they not remonstrate?”
“They do, but with little effect; no one knows who is responsible for the mischief or how to cure it.”
“That is strange.”
“Yes, but the time will come when the people will insist on a cheaper and more expeditious system. Half-a-dozen solicitors and members of the junior bar could devise such a system in a week.”
“Then why are they not permitted to take it in hand?”
“Because,” said I, “Old Fogeyism has, at present, only got the gout in one leg; wait till he has it in both, and then Common Sense will rise to the occasion.”
“But what,” quoth she, “is this fine art you spoke of?”
“Pleading!”
“Yes; in what consists its great art?”
“In artfulness,” quoth I.
Then there was a pause, and at length I said, “I will endeavour to give you an illustration of the process of pleading from ancient history: you have heard, I doubt not, of Joseph and his Brethren.”
“O, to be sure,” cried she; “did they not put him in the pit?”
“Well, I believe they put him in the pit, but I am not referring to that. The corn in Egypt is what I mean.”
“When they found all their money in their sacks’ mouths?”
“Exactly. Now if Joseph had prosecuted those men for stealing the money, they would simply have pleaded not guilty, and the case would have been tried without any bother, and the defendants have been acquitted or convicted according to the wisdom of the judge, the skill of the counsel, and the common sense of the jury. But now suppose instead thereof, Joseph had brought an action for the price of the corn.”
“Would it not have been as simple?”
“You shall see. The facts would have been stated with some accuracy and a good deal of inaccuracy, and a good many things which were not facts would have been introduced. Then the defendants in their statement of defence would have denied that there was any such placeas Egypt as alleged;[52]denied that Pharaoh was King thereof; denied that he had any corn to sell; denied that the said Joseph had any authority to sell; denied that they or any of them went into Egypt; denied that they ever saw the said Joseph or had any communication with him whatever, either by means of an interpreter or otherwise; denied, in fact, everything except their own existence; but in the alternative they would go on to say, if it should be proved that there was a place called Egypt, a man called Pharaoh, an agent of his called Joseph, and that the defendants actually did go to Egypt, all of which they one and all absolutely deny (as becomes men of honour), then they say, that being large corn-merchants and well known to the said Joseph, the factor of the said Pharaoh, as purchasers only of corn for domestic purposes, and requiring therefore a good sound merchantable article, the said Joseph, by falsely and fraudulently representing that certain corn of which he, the said Joseph, was possessed, was at that time of a good sound and merchantable quality and fit for seed and domestic purposes, by the said false and fraudulent representations he, the said Joseph, induced the defendants to purchase a large quantity thereof, to wit, five thousand sacks; whereas the said corn was not of a good sound and merchantable quality and fit for seed and domestic purposes, but was maggoty from damp, and infected with smut and altogether worthless, as he, the said Joseph, well knew at the time he made the said false representations. The defendants would also further allegethat, relying on the said Joseph’s word, they took away the said corn, but having occasion at the inn to look into the said sacks, they found that the said wheat was worthless, and immediately communicated with the said Joseph by sending their younger brother Simeon down to demand a return of the price of the said corn. But when the said Simeon came to the said Joseph the said Joseph caught him, and kicked him, and beat him with a great stick, and had him to prison, and would not restore him to his brethren, the defendants. Whereupon the defendants sent other messengers, and at length, after being detained a long time at the said inn, the said Joseph came down, and on being shown the said corn, admitted that it was in bad condition. Whereupon the defendants, fearing to trust the said Joseph with the said sacks until they had got a return of their said money, demanded that he, the said Joseph, should put the full tale of every man’s money in the sack of the said man; which thing the said Joseph agreed to, and placed every man’s money in the mouth of his said sack. And when the said man was about to reach forth his hand to take his said money, the said Joseph seized the said hand and held him fast—.”
“Stop, stop!” cried my wife; “the said Joseph had not ten hands. You must surely draw the line somewhere.”
“No, no,” said I, “that is good pleading; if the other side should omit to deny it, it will be taken by the rules of pleading to be admitted.”
“But surely you can’t admit impossibilities!”
“Can’t you, though!” cried I. “You can do almost anything in pleading.”
“Except, it seems to me, tell the truth.”
“You mustn’t be too hard upon us poor juniors,” cried I. “I haven’t come to the Counterclaim yet.”
“O don’t let us have Counterclaims,” quoth she; “they can have no claim against Joseph?”
“What, not for selling them smutty wheat?”
“Nonsense.”
“I say yes; and he’ll have to call a number of witnesses to prove the contrary—nor do I think he will be able to do it.”
“I fail now,” said my wife, “to see how this pleading is a fine art. Really, without joking, what is the art?”
“The art of pleading,” said I, “consists in denying what is, and inducing your adversary to admit what isn’t.”
Showing that appropriateness of time and place should be studied in our pastimes.
The next night, sitting over the cheerful fire and comfortably resting after the labours of the day, I dreamed again, and I saw that Horatio Snigger was “the Office Boy” of Mr. Prigg. He had been in the employment of that gentleman about two years. He was tall for his money, standing, in his shoes, at least five feet six, and receiving for his services, five shillings and sixpence a week, (that is, a shilling for every foot and a penny for every odd inch), his last rise (I mean in money,) having taken place about a month ago.
Horatio was a lad of as much spirit as any boy I ever saw. I do not believe he had any liking for the profession, but had entered it simply as his first step in life, utterly in the dark as to whither it would lead him. It was, I believe, some disappointment to his father that on no occasion when he interrogated him as to his “getting on,” could he elicit any more cheering reply than “very well.” And yet Horatio, during the time he had been with Mr. Prigg, had had opportunities of studying character in its ever-varying phases as presented by Courts of Justice and kindred places.
“Kindred places!” Yes, I mean “Judges’ Chambers,” where any boy may speedily be impressed with thedignity and simplicity of the practice of the Law, especially since the passing of the Judicature Act. To my lay readers who may wish to know what “Judges’ Chambers” means, I may observe that it is a place where innumerable proceedings may be taken for lengthening a case, embarrassing the clients, and spending money. It is, to put it in another form, a sort of Grands Mulets in the Mont Blanc of litigation, whence, if by the time you get there you are not thoroughly “pumped out,” you may go on farther and in due time reach the top, whence, I am told, there is a most magnificent view.
But even the beauty of the proceedings at Judges’ Chambers failed to impress Horatio with the dignity of the profession. He lounged among the crowds of chattering boys and youths who “cheeked” one another before that august personage “the Master,” declaring that “Master” couldn’t do this and “Master” couldn’t do that; that the other side was too late or too soon; that his particulars were too meagre or too full; or his answers to interrogatories too evasive or not sufficiently diffuse, and went on generally as if the whole object of the law were to raise as many difficulties as possible in the way of its application. As if, in fact, it had fenced itself in with such an undergrowth of brambles that no amount of ability and perseverance could arrive at it.
From what I perceived of the character of Horatio, I should say that he was a scoffer. He was a mild, good-tempered, well-behaved boy enough, but ridiculed many proceedings which he ought to have reverenced. He was a great favourite with Mr. Prigg, because, if anything in the world attracted the boy’s admiration, it wasthat gentleman’s pious demeanour and profound knowledge. But the exuberance of the lad’s spirits when away from his employer was in exact proportion to the moral pressure brought to bear upon him while in that gentleman’s presence. As an illustration of this remark and proof of the twofold character of Horatio, I will relate what I saw after the “Master” had determined that the tail of the 9 was a very nice point, but that there was nothing in it. They had all waited a long time at Judge’s Chambers, and their spirits were, no doubt, somewhat elated by at last getting the matter disposed of.
Horatio heard Mr. Prigg say to Mr. Locust, “What a very nice point!” and had heard Mr. Locust reply, “A very nice point, indeed!” And Mr. Gride, the clerk, say, “What, a very nice point!” and somebody else’s clerk say, “What a very nice point!” And Horatio felt, as a humble member of the profession, he must chime in with the rest of the firm. So, having said to Locust’s boy, “What a dam nice point!” he went back to his lonely den in Bedford Row and then, as he termed it, “let himself out.” He accomplished this proceeding by first taking off his coat and throwing it on to a chair; he next threw but his arms, with his fists firmly clenched, as though he had hardly yet to its fullest extent realized the “niceness” of the point which the Master had determined. The next step which Horatio took was what is called “The double shuffle,” which, I may inform my readers, is the step usually practised by the gentleman who imitates the sailor in the hornpipe on the stage. Being a slim and agile youth, Horatio’s performance was by no means contemptible, except that it was no part of his professional duty to dance a Hornpipe.Then I saw that this young gentleman in the exuberance of his youthful spirits prepared for another exhibition of his talent. He cleared his throat, once more threw out his arms, stamped his right foot loudly on the floor, after the manner of the Ethiopian dancer with the long shoe, and then to my astonishment poured forth the following words in a very agreeable, and, as it seemed to me, melodious voice,—
“What a very nice point, said Prigg.”
“What a very nice point, said Prigg.”
Then came what I suppose would be called a few bars of the hornpipe; then he gave another line,—
“What a very nice point, said Gride.”
“What a very nice point, said Gride.”
(Another part of the hornpipe.) Then he sang the third and fourth lines, dancing vigorously the while:
“It will take a dozen lawyers with their everlasting jaw:It will take a dozen judges with their ever changing law”—
“It will take a dozen lawyers with their everlasting jaw:It will take a dozen judges with their ever changing law”—
(Vigorous dancing for some moments), and then a pause, during which Horatio, slightly stooping, placed two fingers of his left hand to the side of his nose, and turning his eyes to the right, sang—
“And”—
“And”—
Paused again, and finished vehemently as follows:
“Twenty golden guineas to decide!”
“Twenty golden guineas to decide!”
Then came the most enthusiastic hornpipe that ever was seen, and Horatio was in the seventh Heaven of delight, when the door suddenly opened, and Mr. Prigg entered!
It was unfortunate for Horatio that his back being towards the door he could not see his master enter; and it need scarcely be said that the noise produced by the dance prevented him from hearing his approach.
Mr. Prigg looked astounded at the sight that presented itself. The whole verse was repeated, and the whole dance gone through again in the sight and hearing of that gentleman. Was the boy mad? Had the strain of business been too much for him?
As if by instinct Horatio at last became aware of his master’s presence. A change more rapid, transformation more complete I never saw. The lad hung his head, and wandered to the chair where his coat was lying. It took him some time to put it on, for the sleeves seemed somehow to be twisted; at length, once more arrayed, and apparently in his right mind, he stood with three-quarter face towards his astonished master.
Mr. Prigg did not turn his head even on this occasion. He preserved a dignified silence for some time, and then spoke in a deep tragic tone:
“Horatio!”
Horatio did hot answer.
“What is the meaning of this exhibition, Horatio?”
“I was only having a little fun, sir,” said the youthful clerk.
“I am not averse to youth enjoying itself,” said Mr. Prigg; “but it must be at proper seasons, and in appropriate places; there is also to be exercised a certain discretion in the choice of those amusements in which youth should indulge. I am not aware what category of recreation your present exhibition may belong to, but I may inform you that in my humble judgment—I may be mistaken, and you may know far better than I—butas at present advised, I do not see that your late performance is consistent with the duties of a solicitor’s clerk.” And then he muttered to himself, “Quite so.”
After this magnificent rebuke, Mr. Prigg drew out his cambric handkerchief, and most gently applied it to his stately nose.
“Again,” said Mr. Prigg, “I heard language, or thought I heard language, which I should construe as decidedly derogatory to the Profession which you serve and to which I have the honour to belong.”
“I was only in fun, sir,” said Horatio, gathering confidence as Mr. Prigg proceeded.
“Quite so, quite so; that may be, I sincerely hope you were; but never make fun of that by which you live; you derive what I may call a very competent, not to say handsome, salary from the proceedings which you make fun of. This is sad, and manifests a spirit of levity.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, sir.”
“Very well,” said the good man, “I am glad to perceive that you are brought to a proper sense of the impropriety of your conduct. I will not discharge you on this occasion, for the sake of your father, whom I have known for so many years: but never let this occur again. Dancing is at all times, to my mind, a very questionable amusement; but when it is accompanied, as I perceived it was on this occasion, with gestures which I cannot characterize by any other term than disgusting; and when further you take the liberty of using my name in what I presume you intended for a comic song, I must confess that I can hardly repress my feelings of indignation. I hope you are penitent.”
Horatio hung down his head, and said he was verysorry Mr. Prigg had heard it, for he only intended it for his own amusement.
“I shall take care,” said Mr. Prigg, “that you have less opportunity for such exercises as I have unfortunately witnessed.” And having thus admonished the repentant youth, Mr. Prigg left him to his reflections. I am glad Mr. Prigg did not return while the pale boy was reflecting.